


Deserters

by OhLenaLena



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Romance, Brotherly Love, Developing Friendships, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Draco Malfoy Feels, Draco Malfoy Flirts, Drama & Romance, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Feels, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Good Draco Malfoy, Hate to Love, Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy Friendship, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, Hermione Granger-centric, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Fluff, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Smut, Love, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, Love/Hate, Pining Draco Malfoy, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Protective Draco Malfoy, Protectiveness, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Romance, Romantic Angst, Romantic Draco Malfoy, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Friendship, Romantic Gestures, Sexual Tension, Sexy Draco Malfoy, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Substance Abuse, Tension, True Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, voldemort wins au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:22:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27212626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhLenaLena/pseuds/OhLenaLena
Summary: Hermione and Malfoy, together with an ensemble of friends and foes, survive the Battle of Hogwarts by escaping into the Forbidden Forest. Loyalties are tested when they must learn to live in the wilderness they now call home. Coping with the calamity of war, they struggle to find peace within their own ranks, as they desperately try to heal their physical and psychological wounds.Characters and world belong to JK Rowling.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 167
Kudos: 135





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fairly canon compliant until the Battle of Hogwarts. Voldemort wins AU.

The years folded over one another like layers on a cake. Like stacks of laundry, fresh out of the warmth of a muggle dryer. First in the pile: the thickest, most dense – the bottoms. Then the summer strapless. In between, the soft, fuzzy, bouncy sort of stuff. The kind that sweaters are knit from. Yes, the years were structured as such: the darks on heavy rotation, the fluffy delicates, a short wash of brights, some rare, scattered lights. They were yet to hit the summer years – the ones that would reek of sweet hydrangeas and sound like laughter and happiness. Because the fade from the darkness was not quite complete. And the winter chill was just setting in.

…

"So, what became of Hermione Granger?" Her story, in particular, interests me immensely.

He shifts uneasily in his seat. Runs the back of his hand over his mouth. Waits for me to reconsider my question. He's hoping that I might let him off the hook if there is a long enough pause. I subtly lick my lips and swallow in the silence. I look away. But I don't retreat.

"Hermione," he sighs. "Haven't heard that name in ages." I look up at him then. His tone yanks at my heart and I suddenly wish I'd never asked.

I wince. "You don't have to tell me," I say quietly.

He chuckles, "I know." He shrugs. Shuffles his hair seductively like it's the easiest thing in the world. I smile when he looks down at the table – when he can't see me admiring him. Even now, after all these years, the angles of his face are graceful. The way he lifts his eyes toward me is fluid – flawless. The depth of his gaze is damn near disarming. "Hermione was certainly one of a kind."

I can't help but smile. "You liked her?"

He laughs. "God, no."

I smile even wider because I can tell he's lying.

…

"Stop!" she cried. Her screams sent a tremor through his insides that nearly paralyzed him. "Let go of me!" The fear in her eyes damn near broke his resolve. But his mission was more important than her current state of wellbeing. "I beg you," she pleaded, a note of sorrow gurgling within the depths of her throat. "Tell me where he is," she whimpered. "Please," she whispered. She was losing steam, losing hope.

He was gripping her tightly around the arm while he led her over the charred remains of her friends. The stench of burnt flesh was unbearable. The sight of it was even worse.

"No," she moaned, seeing the leveled battlefield. "No!" she screamed, shaking. She ripped her arm from his grasp and ran.

He looked behind him, saw that the other Death Eaters were coming to help him capture her. He'd have to move faster. He began hopping over the bodies toward her. _Crunch._ He didn't want to think about what he'd just stepped on. Or who. He closed the gap in no time – she was wounded after all – and seized her by the arms, spinning her around. "Will you shut the _fuck_ up?" he hissed.

She cried and shook her head. "How could you?" she cried. "How _could_ you?"

He dragged her across the burning courtyard and shoved her into an alcove. He looked behind him to make sure they weren't being followed.

"What are you –" she began.

Quickly, he slapped a hand over her mouth and brought a threatening finger to his own lips. Her eyes were wide and frantic. The tears that ran down her cheeks burned his palm. He neared her and relaxed the pressure of his fingers against her face. Slowly, tentatively, he let his hand slide away, brushing it softly along the soot dusting her cheek. He bowed his head and rested it on hers, letting his hand drop to her shoulder. "How bad is your leg?"

She breathed unevenly for a while, her body easing into shivers as her heartbeat slowed. He didn't move away. Her teeth chattering, her voice defiant as ever, she finally spoke, "What's your plan, Malfoy?"

He allowed himself to smile. To close his eyes. To breathe in the shockwave that Hermione Granger was to every one of his senses. "I was hoping you might have one."

…

Whenever he spoke of her, a tired sadness accompanied the smile on his face. I am not one to pass judgement, certainly not on Mr. Draco Malfoy himself, but he sure is much easier to read than I'd expected. I drum my fingers on the counter and watch him as he calls the bartender to fetch yet another whiskey. His sleeves are rolled up halfway to his elbows and the veins winding up his forearms protrude sickly from his skin. I watch him in both awe and pity as he takes a gulp and lets out a satisfied hiss.

"What about Harry?" I ask.

He doesn't even look at me this time. "You ask a lot of questions."

I'm embarrassed by my nauseating curiosity, but I remain silent and hopeful that he will respond, nevertheless.

Malfoy sighs. "Harry," he says, "was a good man."

I find this sentiment hard to believe but I let it slide.

…

They hugged the shore of the Great Lake as they ran under cover of darkness with the Death Eaters rounding up bodies behind them. Malfoy clutched Hermione's hand as though he were afraid she'd get lost in the mist, terrified that she'd trip and slip under the still, dark waters below. Perhaps what frightened him most was that letting go might make her disappear entirely, as if she were never really with him at all. So, he pulled her in closer as they ran, held onto her because her warmth made him believe that not everything was lost. Not yet.

When they reached the Forbidden Forest, Hermione quickly set up a perimeter of protective enchantments before succumbing to her exhaustion. She swayed before finally dropping her wand hand. Malfoy leapt toward her just in time to catch her as her knees buckled from underneath. Gingerly, he laid her down on the ground, resting her head on his lap.

"You've lost a lot of blood," he said, cringing at the terror that escaped his mouth together with his words. "I can't help you," he nearly sobbed.

She lifted her eyes toward him. Brought her hand up to his face. She almost reached it before her arm fell back down. "Go," she breathed. "Go get Harry."

…

The morning was exceedingly hot and Hermione gasped for a breath of air when she awoke. She was alone in the clearing where Malfoy had left her the night before. From a distance, she could see the black smoke curling up from the battlefield toward the sky, a heavy cloud hanging menacingly over the castle grounds.

She winced trying to stand up and looked down at the source of her pain. She saw the tourniquet Malfoy had fastened around her leg and cringed when she saw the exposed flesh on her calf. Dried blood caked over her entire foot and a trickle still oozed from the wound. She felt around for her wand but knew that this kind of curse could only be properly mended by an experienced healer. She watched the smoke roll over the water in a slow, seductive dance. The haze was so thick she could not see the castle past the line of trees.

Hermione's heart hammered violently, the drumming in her temples drowning out the sounds of the forest. She didn't know how long Malfoy had been gone, but she hoped that he could find them – find him. And then, out of the dense, dark coils of smoke, he stepped out with Harry's arm slumped over his shoulders. Harry was barely able to keep his footing, stumbling alongside Malfoy, leaning into him like upon a crutch. Malfoy watched Hermione solemnly as he and Harry hobbled forward toward her. Behind them, another two figures emerged staggering out of the darkness.

Malfoy dropped Harry carefully over a mound of grass near a tree and sighed. Harry reclined into the trunk behind him and closed his eyes. A gurgling sound escaped his mouth like something was rattling in his lungs. Malfoy made his way over to Hermione and crouched down to sit beside her, his eyebrows knotted, creasing his forehead.

"You alright?" he said.

Hermione glanced away from Harry briefly to look up at Malfoy. She gestured to the injury on her leg, "Not really."

Malfoy made a hissing sound and nodded up toward the two figures stepping through the trees into the clearing. "Nott," Malfoy called out as Nott set a wounded Parkinson down on a log near Harry. "Come take a look at this, will you?" Turning back to Hermione, Malfoy said, "He's quite adept at this stuff. You're in good hands."

Nott walked over to Hermione and bent down to examine her wound. "Parkinson's fairly battered. Will you go look after her?" Nott said calmly to Malfoy, as if it were just any other Sunday morning and Parkinson was suffering from a mere hangover. Nott pushed his long hair out of his face and took Hermione's leg in his hands. She winced and he looked up at her. "Apologies," he said. Then, turning her leg over to the side to inspect the laceration, he added with a tight smirk, "It's a tad gruesome."

Hermione puffed out a breath of air and resisted the urge to kick him with her bloody foot. "Top notch observation, Nott."

Nott raised his eyebrows but the subtle smile on his face never disappeared. "I may know a counter-curse. To be sure, I need you to wiggle your toes."

"Come again?" Hermione blinked at Nott, baffled.

Nott gave her a sheepish, apologetic look. "Unfortunately, I'm not joking."

Hermione sighed loudly and moved the toes of her right foot back and forth. She glared at Nott when he looked back at her. "Great, that's a good sign."

…

Theodore Nott is the kind of man that doesn't talk much but sure knows what to say. He moves the dark hair from his eyes in a leisurely motion. His eyes search mine for meaning. Shame that my responses are meaningless. I keep wondering, though, why he cares to ask.

"How long were you in hiding?" I say.

He blows out a stream of smoke and taps his cigarette against the crystal ashtray. He squints at me, trying to dissect my words. "Ages," he finally says.

I stare at him, wondering how I could get more.

He slides his cigarette back into his mouth and takes a long puff. The red tip glows before my eyes. He turns his head to blow the smoke in another direction before turning back to look at me. His dark eyes clutch at the innermost parts of my soul and I know, then, that I would believe anything he tells me. Good thing Theodore Nott isn't much of a liar.

…

By nightfall, they'd been joined by others. Neville arrived with Ginny in his arms, carrying her heroically through the thick clouds of smoke toward the forest. She'd missed a disintegration curse by a hair but had been hit by the debris from the wall it burst. She was unconscious when Nott got to work on deciphering her injuries.

Then came Ron and Luna, propping up a badly injured Zabini in between them. Luna fretted over his wounds while Ron ran to Hermione and pulled her into an enormous hug.

"Oh God," he sobbed into her ear, "I thought I'd lost you!"

Hermione had been feeling all afternoon as though a shadow had shrouded her deepest emotions – to protect her, she thought. She recognized, with a jolt, that she hadn't been overly concerned with Ron's prolonged absence. Was becoming frightfully desensitized to the bleeding victims around her. She had just watched peacefully as Harry slept though the afternoon as though it were nothing more than a lazy weekend slumber.

Cho Chang arrived after Ron, followed closely by Oliver Wood, hanging onto his broomstick tighter than he was clutching his wand. He looked around frantically when he arrived at the clearing, as if the battle continued to rage within him.

Hermione looked over at Malfoy who was hovering over Ginny with Nott. Ginny seemed to have the most extensive injuries and the two were tirelessly trying to revive her. That's when Ron noticed his sister. He ran to her immediately, forcing Malfoy out of his way.

Malfoy stood up and turned his gaze to Hermione. He strode over, skirting the injured parties as he drew near. "Well?" he said when he arrived. He let out a sigh as he bent down to sit beside her. "You got a plan yet, Granger?"


	2. Chapter 2

“Hang on,” Harry said. He’d woken up just about an hour prior to realizing what exactly had transpired. He had been in and out for a while. Hermione had watched him regain consciousness only to lose it a few minutes later. He had seemed dazed for most of the day. Disoriented. Hermione had sat in silence while others busied themselves around her. Somewhere between yesterday and today she had become numb. She couldn’t be bothered to move even the muscles of her face.

Her wound had healed well, the blisters were subsiding. Nott had come around several times over the hours to check on her progress. He had sat on the grassy slope just behind her and watched her listless expression for some time before speaking.

“You doin’ alright there, Granger?” he’d said.

She’d blinked in Harry’s direction. Mused that perhaps she should turn her head and acknowledge Nott’s presence. But then she’d decided that it was pointless. Continued watching Harry.

“Hey,” Nott had said a little louder. “Granger. Anybody home?” He’d annoyingly waved a hand in front of her face. She had just pushed it away.

Finally, Harry had definitively woken up.

“Hang on,” he said, taking in his surroundings. He propped himself up on a couple of wobbly arms.

Hermione sat up straighter.

“What’s going on?” he said.

…

“You ever met her?” he says. “Hermione.”

“No,” I lie. I want to hear about his version of Hermione.

“She was a force,” he says. He lets out a bitter chuckle.

I bite the inside of my lip where I’ve already created a permanent scar. I make a mental note to write that down later. I like the sound of it. A _force_.

Malfoy rotates on his barstool, knocks on the counter, holds up a hand. If I were anybody else, I’d have lost count of how many drinks he’s had. As it stands, well, seven.

…

There were about thirty of them that had made it out. How many came out on the other side nobody knew. They were tired, shaken, many of them were badly wounded. Nobody really wanted to speak and a dense silence hung in the air interspersed with the occasional moan.

That’s when Malfoy stepped into the center of the clearing. “Welcome,” he said.

A few faces looked up at the sound of his voice. Hermione lowered her head but raised her gaze toward him.

His shirt was ripped to the point where it made no sense for him to be wearing it. He probably didn’t notice. His face was smeared with dirt. His hair was tangled and covered in ash. His grey eyes were the only thing about him that wasn’t filthy.

He’d stepped up just after Harry’s moment of realization.

“Thank you for coming,” Malfoy said.

…

“It was Draco’s plan,” Nott says. He crushes the butt of his second cigarette into the ashtray and purses his lips.

I wait for him to elaborate. He doesn’t. “He planned for a losing war,” I say. “That’s a little pessimistic.”

Nott shrugs his shoulders. “I suppose I’ve always regarded it as more pragmatic than pessimistic.”

“And he shared his plan with you?”

Nott leans back in his seat and studies me. I look away immediately, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. “Something tells me,” he says languidly, “that you already know the answer to that question.” He pulls a cigarette from behind his ear and sticks it into his mouth.

I look back at him and, despite the heat creeping up to the tips of my ears, I say, “Tell me about him.”

…

Harry stood up slowly, Ron came to his aid when he faltered, his legs precariously unsteady underneath him. Leaning against the tree trunk, he glared at Malfoy.

“What are we doing here?” he said.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and turned to face Harry and Ron. “We’re here,” Malfoy said, “because we lost.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “We lost because we left.”

Malfoy sneered. “You’re right, Potter,” he said, “I should’ve just left you lying around on the battlefield until you finished them off with your unconscious fury.”

Harry started toward Malfoy, but Ron held him back when he stumbled.

“That’s right,” Malfoy grimaced at them, “put a leash on your boy, Weasley.”

Hermione could’ve lashed out. She could’ve said something. She could’ve reacted. Instead, she sat in silence watching the scene unfold before her.

Nott was behind her again. “You’ve got me worried,” he said casually.

Hermione made no response.

Nott sat there for a while longer. When Malfoy had finished his speech, Nott stood up. He gestured for Malfoy to come by and then nodded toward Hermione. When Malfoy was close enough, Nott said, “She’s worse now than before.”

Malfoy placed a hand on Nott’s arm and the latter walked off, glancing over his shoulder to see Malfoy extend a hand toward Hermione.

…

I just want to know what happened. I want somebody else’s truth.

Nott spins a tall glass of bubbling beer on the surface of the table. It leaves behind wet rings from the condensation. He brings the stein to his lips and takes a large gulp. “Yeah, he told a few of us,” he says. “Right before it began.”

“Told you to meet him in the forest?” I say.

“Told us to gather as many survivors as possible when things started to go south.”

I consider this for a moment. “There were close to thirty of you,” I say. “You don’t think your absence affected the outcome of the battle? The course of the war?”

Nott takes another swig from his beer stein and exhales. Sets it down on the table and takes a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his bomber. He taps the bottom of the pack and slides a smoke into his palm. He places it behind his ear and taps the pack again. The next cigarette that slips out goes directly into his mouth from the pack. Returning the pack into his jacket pocket and dropping a pair of sunglasses over his eyes from atop his head, he says to me around the unlit cigarette in his mouth, “I think we’re done here.” He gets up to leave.

…

Hermione didn’t really hesitate before taking Malfoy’s hand. Besides a murky indifference that had shrouded her internal struggle, she felt a wicked sense of curiosity that centered strictly around Malfoy’s actions.

He led her aside. Paused at the edge of the clearing behind a gnarled tree trunk. He turned to face her but before he could speak, she said, “I’m fine.”

He narrowed his eyes a touch. “You think I’m concerned?”

Hermione looked away, beyond him. She could see the misty lake over his head and through the trees. The twilight was grey today. “I could tell.”

Malfoy brought a hand to his mouth to conceal taut smirk. “You seem,” he said, “a little out of sorts.”

Hermione glanced back at him. “Wouldn’t it be strange if I weren’t?”

Malfoy lowered his gaze. He’d dropped her hand as soon as she had gotten up. And a sick part of him seemed to want it back. “Thought you were a goner,” he said. “When you were hit.”

Hermione shrugged. “Might as well have been.”

Malfoy shook his head. “I knew there was something off about you.”

“I’m tired, Malfoy,” she said. “D’you have a point?”

“Granger,” he said forcefully, “I need you to snap out of it. I need your help.”

…

The following morning Hermione awoke with a start. She looked around the still dark clearing and saw that Nott was busy tending to Ginny. Harry and Ron were with him. She vaguely wondered whether any of them had had any sleep. Ginny looked terrible. Her skin seemed even more pale than it had been the night Neville brought her, if that was at all possible. Hermione hadn’t even gone near her because she couldn’t risk fracturing the wall that so conveniently shielded her from the outside world. Only Malfoy had been able to reach her. Most likely because she couldn’t care less about him.

He was sitting beside her on the grass, watching her closely. “Bad dream?” he said.

She shook her head as he shifted closer to her. He lowered his head so that their foreheads almost touched.

“You should rest up. We’ve got a hike tomorrow,” he said.

She looked up at him. At his pale face that reflected the moonlight. At the heaviness of his gaze.

Malfoy stirred; his body moved somewhere behind his eyes. She couldn’t help but feel that he looked mesmerised. “Fuck, Granger,” he finally said. “Can I help you with something?” He leaned back into the tree trunk behind him and closed his eyes.

Hermione felt a spasm of emotion ripple through her like a short circuit before it was all over. She looked away from him without a second thought.

…

A day. Two days. Ten. Who knew? Malfoy had suggested that the troupe move further into the forest to avoid detection. He had been shot down unequivocally. Nott had said that Ginny was in no condition to travel. Harry had pointed out that they shouldn’t stray far from a reliable water source in case they encountered problems with conjuring.

They’d spent some time building shelters. Enchanting the pine trees to chop their thinner branches, rolling and levitating logs to form triangular huts, covering the angled wood with pine needles and yew tree branches for warmth. They had charmed knotgrass to use as rope, tying the logs together along the tops of the shelters.

Hermione had done little to aid this process. Setting up accommodations meant they were preparing for an extended stay. She was itching to leave.

Malfoy reluctantly joined in the efforts when his initial proposal was rejected. He and Parkinson set to collecting the flattest branches to lay over the logs of the huts. Parkinson had begun her usual overassertive routine when Malfoy told her off.

“That is sycamore,” she’d said. “What will we do with sycamore, Draco? Those leaves won’t last the week!”

Malfoy had shifted his jaw, thrown the branches at her feet. “Get stuffed, Pansy,” he’d said.

It’s the only thing that made Hermione smile all week.

Neville and Luna had gone on a trek in search of medicinal plants. They’d left a few days back and had yet to return. Nobody seemed overly concerned. They’d all gone from fighting for each other to fending for themselves within a matter of moments, it appeared.

Malfoy was speaking again. Fewer and fewer of them listened. “We need to leave,” he said.

Harry looked up from Ginny’s frail body. She’d lost weight over the course of their stay in the forest. “Why don’t you leave, Malfoy?” Harry spat.

Nott glanced between Harry and Malfoy. “Best we stick together, yeah?”

“They’re going to find us here!” Malfoy shouted at Harry, his hot temper bubbling out of him in spurts. “You want to wait until it’s too late?”

Harry rose. Crossed over Ginny’s legs to arrive before Malfoy. “If we move her, she’ll die.”

Malfoy twisted his mouth into a malicious hook. “She’s suffering anyhow.”

Before Malfoy had a chance to say anything else, Harry knocked him in the face with a well-aimed punch. Malfoy staggered backward and smirked, catching the blood trickling from the corner of his lip with his thumb. The blood began collecting in his mouth, spilling over. He gave Harry a wide, bloody smile. Started to laugh.

Hermione had been sifting through the knotgrass, setting aside the best pieces for potion making and throwing the rest in a pile to be used as rope. She stood up. It felt strange to move – she hadn’t stirred in ages.

“Malfoy,” she called. Harry looked toward her, but she was watching Malfoy. Malfoy turned his head, his wild eyes catching her gaze.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shook the blood off his fingers. It splattered angrily across the yew shrubs around him. She watched him move toward her. He walked past her to the spot at the edge of the clearing where they had spoken before. She followed him.

“Just like you to make a scene,” she said to him.

Malfoy chuckled. “Well, you’ve been no help. Someone’s got to take charge.”

“Why?” she said.

Malfoy tilted his head, cocked an eyebrow, spat. “Because this,” he gestured to the people busying themselves in the clearing, “was not what I had in mind.”

…

“Do you regret it?” I hesitate with this one. It hurts me to see the pain in his eyes.

He smiles sadly. “A rather leading question.”

I watch as he ruffles his blond hair again, stalling. As he downs another shot. As he squints his eyes at me to keep my face in focus.

“Doesn’t really matter, does it?” he says. “Regret is a waste of emotion.”


	3. Chapter 3

Harry set Ginny's head down on a pillow which Hermione had transfigured from a pile of leaves. They had brought her into one of the shelters because, despite it being the month of June, the days seemed to be getting colder and, Hermione could swear it, shorter. It had been a fight, whether or not to move Ginny. She was so frail looking, and her breaths were so shallow, that it was scary even to touch her, let alone transport her body. In the end, Hermione had convinced Harry that, with the help of Nott, the three of them would be able to levitate her in. Hermione had charmed the shelter to be larger on the inside and was still fatigued from the task. She attempted to conjure a mattress but was too weak to make the spell work.

"Aguamenti," Harry muttered, and a trickle of water began to flow from the tip of his wand. He brought it up to Ginny's face and wet her cracked lips.

Hermione stepped outside of the shelter before the fear that overwhelmed Harry could burden her too. She looked up at the sky, still grey from the battle, still overcast. The treetops waved about so perilously up there, their branches flying wildly in the wind, scraping against one another as if in combat. Back on the ground, however, their trunks stood as steady as ever.

Her gaze fell on George. His red hair hid his eyes as he worked on sharpening a stick with a blade he'd made from a rock. The rotting stump on which he sat looked about ready to crumble underneath him, but he didn't appear to notice. He held the stick out in front of his face, examining his work. Seemingly satisfied, he took out his wand and transformed the stick into a sturdier, slightly longer spear.

Hermione felt for George. He seemed a little more lost than everyone else. He spent his days flopping aimlessly from one meaningless task to another. Always busying himself. He hadn't even checked on Ginny, really. Hermione had seen Fred's body. He wasn't missing. They all knew he was dead. But George continued to sharpen sticks in silence, throwing down completed spears into a growing pile by his feet. Whenever they were ready to go hunting the muggle way, they would have an ample supply of weaponry.

Everyone had been on edge at the camp. The weeks were long, and the days were dreary. They were starving. There was no food and obviously they couldn't conjure it. "Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration," Hermione had snapped when Ron complained that nobody bothered to properly learn transfiguration when they had the chance. "You can't just make food out of nothing, Ron," she'd said sourly. All they had to eat were mushrooms and berries.

Malnutrition had caused a wave of anxiety because many found that their magical skills suffered as a result. A pronounced tension hung in the air. There were no friends in the forest. Where no one would admit it – they all felt it. Where no one would say it – they were all thinking it. And everybody had an opinion.

…

I follow Nott. Winding around the tables of the patio, I chase him down near the entrance. "I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't mean to offend you."

Nott stops on the steps leading down to the street. He drags his hand out of the pocket of his black jeans and, after taking a puff, brings the cigarette out of his mouth. "I'll stay," he says, blowing the smoke out through his teeth, "if you tell me who you work for."

…

Neville approached Hermione. "It's ready, I think," he said, holding up a wooden dish filled with a dark red liquid. "Luna's just squeezing the pus out of the last few bubotubers so we should have more for her in a few hours."

Hermione gave Neville a tight smile. "Thanks," she said, taking the healing potion into her hands. She held it steady lest any of it should spill while she crouched and passed the threshold back into the hut.

"Here," she said to Harry when she walked in. "Neville and Luna finally found the bubotubers. Can you lift her head?"

"Not without difficulty," Harry grumbled. His brows were furrowed and it was obvious that he'd lost all hope of any healing potion being successful in reviving Ginny. After all, the Wiggenweld Potion that Nott had made the week before – the one that took him nearly a month to concoct while he scoured the forest for all the ingredients – was ineffective.

Hermione sighed in agitation, setting the potion down on a table she'd previously transfigured out of some logs. The potion splashed out from the side of the bowl and stained the table red. She didn't care anymore. "It's getting cold," she rubbed her hands together.

Nott was holding his hand to Ginny's forehead. "She's burning up," he said.

"You think?" Harry barked. He grabbed the potion from the table and more of it spilled out.

Hermione leaned on the log wall and the shelter creaked from her weight. She moaned and stood back up. "I'm so tired," she said quietly. Then, louder, "I'm so cold." She could suddenly feel Harry's idiotic anxiety begin to overwhelm her and she shot him an angry look. He was glaring right back at her. She was moments away from losing it and, just as she was about to take a breath and let go, Nott was at her side, grabbing her arm and pushing her out of the hut.

…

"Daily Prophet? Quibbler?" he says.

I shake my head. We're sitting at a different table today and the sun is hitting us sideways. He's got his sunglasses on.

"What do you do?" Nott takes a sip of beer.

"I teach." It's not a lie.

…

Hermione scoffed, "Do you mind, Nott?"

Nott didn't answer but continued to guide her backwards toward the treeline. Her distress was quickly turning to rage as she knocked him on the shoulder. She could see Malfoy look up from the fire he had just started in the clearing to see Nott dragging her away. Malfoy stood up and followed them. He gained on them quickly and was side by side with Nott when the latter finally let go of Hermione's arm. They were so deep into the forest now that the dense cover of trees overhead was enough to plunge their faces into crude shadows.

"Who do you think you are?" Hermione scowled at Nott.

"What happened?" Malfoy said.

Nott was watching Hermione impassively. "He doesn't need your negativity right now. He's got enough of his own," he said.

"Who?" Malfoy said.

"I've had it!" Hermione yelled. "I've had it! I've had enough!"

Nott and Malfoy grabbed her by the arms and began to drag her farther away from the clearing as her screams got louder.

"I can't! I can't do it anymore!" She tried to fight against their grasps.

Nott gave Malfoy a knowing look.

"Why is it so cold?" she screamed.

"Shh!" Malfoy hissed. He looked over his shoulder to see if anybody from the clearing had heard Hermione's wails. If they did, they didn't seem to care.

"It's freezing! And there's no food! And our protection charms are wearing off and nobody is strong enough to rebuild them!" She croaked, her voice becoming hoarse. She blinked at Malfoy and Nott, all the tears that she never cried finally gushing out. "And they're still here," she sobbed. "Still patrolling the grounds. They're looking for us. They know where we are."

Malfoy shot Nott a quick glance.

Hermione let out a quivering sigh. "They're waiting us out."

Malfoy brought a hand to his forehead and grimaced. "We have to move deeper into the forest," he said.

"No," Hermione shook her head. "I can't. I can't live here."

"We'll make it work," Nott said.

Hermione started to sob again. "I can't!"

Nott sighed and turned away. With his back to Hermione, he looked at Malfoy. "We need her," he said quietly.

Malfoy's face hardened. He shook Hermione by the arm. "Get it together, Granger."

…

I flip through my notebook, waiting for Malfoy to return. He got distracted on his way to the bathroom and now again on his way back. The woman who's got her hand on his chest moves in closer and whispers something in his ear that makes him smirk. What is it about him, even now in the oversized tank that exposes his protruding ribcage, that captivates anyone he meets? I don't know. But I'm equally fascinated.

He approaches me slowly, as if trying not to sway. Finds the barstool behind himself with his hand. Sits. He rests his elbow on the counter and, dropping his head onto his fist, brings his face close to mine. "Did you think of more questions while I was gone?" he says.

The truth is I have about a million. Give or take a few.

…

"What do you mean, you 'need me'?" Hermione said.

Without another word, Nott began to walk back toward the clearing.

Malfoy fastened Hermione with a long, strained look. "We've tried to remove the enchantment," he said. "But it's not your run-of-the-mill weather-modifying charm."

Hermione looked at him sharply. "What are you talking about?"

"He's shuffling the seasons. My guess is, he's summoning winter to drive us out of the forest."

Hermione's gaze dropped as she began to understand.

"He's got us trapped in here," Malfoy said. "And we've got to move _further in_. Before our shields have dropped."

"But, Ginny –" Hermione began.

"Is one person," Malfoy said.

"Harry won't leave her."

"Two people, then," Malfoy said.

Hermione looked up at him defiantly. "And I won't leave Harry."

"Then you're killing them all," Malfoy said evenly. "Because nobody will follow me or Nott."

"You need me," Hermione breathed, "to save them."

…

That evening, Neville brought the second dose of healing potion to Hermione, who was back to standing outside of Ginny's hut. She thanked him and took it inside to give to Harry. He looked at her sheepishly, "Thanks, Hermione," he said.

"Yeah," she gave him a tight smile.

Harry lifted Ginny's head and brought the bowl to her mouth. Ginny looked no better than she did in the morning.

Suddenly, they heard a crack outside of the shelter and Hermione jumped. Harry whipped out his wand. Then they heard a loud commotion, screams, cries, shouting. Hermione jumped up and ran out of the hut.

As she sprang out, she crashed into Nott's back. He was standing in front of the door to the shelter, holding an arm out to keep Hermione from moving any further. In his hand, he was holding his wand.

"Think this through," Nott was saying.

"I have." The words came out like a muted bark; guttural.

Hermione stepped sideways to see over Nott's shoulder.

Blaise stood before Nott, his wand raised. "Get out of the way, Nott," he said in a low tone.

Hermione clutched the wand in her pocket.

"No," Nott said calmly.

"She's got to go, Nott," the quiet, cold drawl to her left was unmistakeable.

Hermione drew her wand in its direction, squinting into the darkness. Malfoy was standing with his arms crossed.

" _You_ ," Hermione hissed.

"It wasn't my idea," Malfoy said languidly. "But I'm sure as hell not going to deny it's a good one."

Blaise advanced and Nott held his wand up. Before Nott could say anything, Blaise stunned him, and Nott toppled to the ground. Then, out of the darkness behind him, Ron charged Blaise, knocking him down. Blaise shot a stunning spell in Ron's direction but missed. Malfoy drew his wand.

“She’s going to live!” Hermione cried, not entirely believing her own words. Who knew if Ginny would survive? She’d been unconscious for over a month with no signs of recovery. Nevertheless, pointing her wand between Malfoy and Blaise as she backed into the entranceway of the shelter, Hermione stood defiantly between them and her friend.

Behind her, Harry leapt out and aimed a charm at Malfoy. The latter ducked while Harry pointed his wand at Blaise.

“This is how we save everyone else,” Malfoy yelled.

Hermione raised her wand toward Malfoy, but he hit her with a disarming charm. “Stop it!” Hermione cried, shoving her way toward Malfoy over Nott’s stupefied body. “Stop!” She pounded her fists against his chest while he tried to push his way past her. “What are you going to do?” she choked out, “ _Kill_ her?” The fire in his eyes blazed on and Hermione felt a new wave of panic cascade through to her core. For the first time since the battle, she felt something other than hopelessness. _Fear_.

Stumbling backwards as Malfoy advanced, she tripped over Nott’s legs. Malfoy caught her instinctively as she was falling and brought her back up to her feet. Then he glowered at her and shoved her aside.

She stumbled sideways as he entered the hut. She ran after him. “What are you doing?” she cried, smashing into him and knocking him against the wall as he pointed his wand at her face. She had her fingers twisted in the material of his shirt.

Malfoy lowered his head and slid the tip of his wand down her neck. He whispered, “Snapping you out of it.”

Hermione blinked at him just as a streak of red light hit him and his unconscious body fell to the ground. Dazed, Hermione turned her head to see Ron and Harry panting in the entranceway.


	4. Chapter 4

“Was it something I said?” his voice sent a chill down her spine.

Hermione turned to see Malfoy standing just outside the warm glow of the fire which danced at the center of the camp. His face was submerged in a milky darkness, veiled by the tendrils of the rising smoke, but she could still see the crooked smirk she loathed twisted into his mouth. She turned her back to him and rubbed her hands together, holding her palms up to the receding flames.

Cho was crouched by the fire pit shuffling logs with a long stick. The look of concentration on her face rivalled that of her glory days on the Quidditch pitch as she poked at the crumbling wood of the dying fire. Two of the logs nearly collapsed on her hand when she tried to squeeze some kindling in between them and she jumped backward as a cloud of ash and sparks roared out from underneath when they dropped. She wiped the soot from her brow with a tired hand and knelt forward again, her face aglow in the flickering light, the top of her lip sparkling with sweat. She reached for another log when George came over with an armful of kindling. He set the pine sticks down beside her and she gave him a grateful smile.

“How was your nap?” Hermione said when she felt Malfoy’s breath on the back of her neck. Over the tips of the flames, she saw Nott and Zabini stirring underneath the twisted trunk of an old tree.

Malfoy chuckled into her ear. “You’re angry,” he said quietly.

“What gave it away?” Hermione said coolly.

Cho had just finished propping the last log around a heap of kindling and George placed his wand tip squarely in the middle of the pile. He closed his eyes and muttered something under his breath. Not even a ringlet of smoke arose from the freshly laid pine. He sighed, keeping his eyes closed, and Cho, sitting beside him and watching his face, placed her hand over his. Hermione could see Cho’s knuckles whiten as she squeezed his fingers.

Hermione held her breath as George clasped his fingers around Cho’s hand. His eyes were still closed, and his forehead was shiny with sweat despite the bitter wind of the evening.

Just then, one of the smallest pieces of white pine began to glow red. The heat crept up the stick and caught another, a small flame began to lick the bark of a nearby log. Cho jumped up and grabbed a branch from the ground as George withdrew his wand and lowered himself until his face was flush with the flames. He began to blow under the logs and more of the kindling began to catch fire. Cho held up her branch and began fanning the flames as they rose up and eclipsed her face.

The darkness behind Hermione spoke again. “Take a walk with me, will you?” Malfoy said.

…

“Do you know?” he says, then pauses a moment, as if he’s trying to organize his thoughts. “You know what it’s like to be able to remember every single detail of a particular event?” he says. “You could recite it from memory as if it only just happened yesterday.”

I nod reluctantly because I’m paranoid he’s going to sober up and realize that he’s got more questions of his own.

“And then, one day, after remembering everything for so many years, you tell somebody about it,” he gestures at me and I cower slightly, unworthy of his honesty. “And, after you tell it, it suddenly becomes distant. Like a dream. Like something that happened to someone else.”

The hair on my arms is rising as his wall of sadness slams into my own obscure emotional state.

“You begin to forget,” he says. Wearily, he disturbs a section of his blond hair, shaking it out absentmindedly, giving his hand something to do. “It’s like, you’ve only really been remembering it all this time for the sake of telling the story. And once it’s been told, it lets you go.”

…

They walked out from the warmth of the fire and Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. “This cold is driving me insane,” she muttered. “It must be the worst thing about this ridiculous situation!”

“Really?” Malfoy raised his eyebrows and grinned at her. “The absolute worst?”

Hermione sighed. “Other than your incessant nagging, of course.”

“I always knew you had a temper, Granger,” he said. “But I’ve got to say, your cynicism is a complete surprise.”

“War will do that to you,” she said flatly. Truthfully, Hermione did not feel like herself at all. There was a disconnect between the Hermione she had been and the Hermione she had become. And the alarming thing was, she couldn’t for the life of her remember who she had been before. And this feeling of being lost within her own mind terrified her more than anything else.

“I’m not judging,” Malfoy said, continuing to walk out of the clearing into the territory of colossal tree trunks and hanging vines.

“What is it that you want, Malfoy?” she said, swinging branches out of her face as she walked. The forest was becoming denser the farther they went.

“Have you taken my proposal into consideration?”

“We’re staying,” she said unflinchingly.

Malfoy shook his head. “It’s a mistake.”

Hermione ran her hands up and down her arms, trying to warm herself. “That sounds like an opinion.”

Malfoy stopped, his hands in the pockets of his trousers, and turned to her. Then, he lifted a hand to point upward, to his right.

Hermione followed his gaze and saw it. A silver chasm in the shield charm, glowing in the darkness. It seemed to be burning on its edges, widening.

“If they look in at just the right angle,” Malfoy said, “they will see us.”

Hermione sighed. “Perhaps if they knew exactly where to look.”

“Granger, you know it’s a risk,” Malfoy said. “Are they worth it?”

Hermione didn’t know. She knew the old Hermione would certainly think so. She had loved her friends. But now? Was she still capable of love? She felt so hopelessly empty. The thought nearly sent her reeling. What was it that she really lost in the war? Her mind?

…

“Thank you for taking the time to speak with me,” I say.

Malfoy gives me a warm, genuine smile. “You’re not the first person to be interested in the chronicles of the winter war.”

I gulp, reach for my notebook. Still looking at him, I open it to the first page and, at the top, above the notes of my very first interview, I write, “ _Chronicles of the Winter War_.”

“Certainly, you’re not the first journalist drawn to the story,” he shrugs.

I smile, look back down at my notes. He’s got it all wrong. But I don’t correct him.

…

Malfoy waited patiently while Hermione processed her thoughts. She noticed that his face was gaunt and sallow – more so than his usual pallid complexion. His cheeks were hollow, the darkness pooling underneath his cheekbones gave him an almost skeletal finish. He was not a pretty sight.

“We’re staying,” she finally said. Her motivation, in the end, was to contradict Malfoy.

Malfoy kicked at the undergrowth beneath his feet in frustration. “For fuck’s sake, Hermione, what do I have to do to get you to listen to me?”

She blinked at him, speechless for a moment. Then, she retorted, “Why in the world would I listen to _you_?”

“I saved your life,” he spat.

“Oh, you’ve just been waiting for the opportunity to remind me, haven’t you?” She fixed him with a contemptuous look. “Forgive me if I don’t regard it as an entirely selfless act.”

Malfoy brought his hand up to his face, rubbed at his brow, raked his fingers roughly through his hair. “You’re right,” he said finally, looking at her with a frustrated misery, “it was entirely selfish.”

Hermione scoffed but said nothing more.

But Malfoy continued. “Selfish because I couldn’t tolerate the idea of a world without Hermione Granger in it. Putting me in my place.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. The old Hermione would have had to think long and hard for an appropriate response. The new Hermione blurted out, “Fuck me, I need a drink.”

Malfoy chuckled. “Sorry, love. Last call was about a month ago.”

Hermione watched him cautiously as he shifted his jaw and threw a sideways glance at a scattering of black flowers on the ground that had begun to crystallize under a cashmere frost. His eyes had a sort of wildness in them that was difficult to reconcile with the rest of him. He kept his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched up to shield his face from the crippling wind, his lips taut in a thin, unreadable expression. He knew he’d overshared, and only the vortex raging in his eyes betrayed his thoughts.

She decided to let it go, because she was too exhausted to try and peel away at his façade. Whatever secrets Draco Malfoy was keeping from her would have to wait.

“Will you tell them?” she finally said.

He glanced back at her, narrowed his eyes, cocked his head to the side.

“About the weather charm,” she clarified, seeing that he was lost somewhere in his own deliberations.

“It's not a _charm_ ,” Malfoy rolled his eyes, easily snapping back into his well-oiled guise. “I wish it were a charm.”

“They have a right to know what’s coming, whatever it may be.”

“Look who’s suddenly got an opinion,” Malfoy smirked maliciously. Then, more seriously, he added, “They’re already struggling. They don’t need any more bad news.”

“They’re not stupid,” Hermione said indignantly. “They’re going to suspect something sooner or later. If they haven’t already.”

Malfoy’s voice became a touch more agitated. “They’re worn out, miserable. They haven’t eaten, barely slept. I dare you to find one soul who could cast a warming charm let alone conjure us some parkas. Telling them would only cause a dangerous degree of panic which would be detrimental to our cause.”

“Our cause being?” Hermione said suspiciously.

The scream that ruptured the space between them was alien. It hurtled through the clearing – rippled through the air – like a tear across the fabric of the atmosphere. It seemed so foreign in their little, quiet camp that Hermione didn’t recognize it at first as a scream at all. She made a grimace, almost brought her hands up to cover her ears. Until, that is, she saw Malfoy’s eyes widen with dread. He spun around in a blur and started running back toward the camp – toward the source of the sound.

As if in a nightmare, it seemed to take all of Hermione’s strength to shift her limbs out of place. She was frozen with what she could only assume was fear. She didn’t want to know what was happening. Couldn’t quite bring herself to move. She had seen enough terror to fill up a lifetime. Could her fraught nerves really take any more? She began to tread reluctantly after Malfoy, seeing ahead of her the congregation of bodies outside of Ginny’s shelter.

As she approached the entrance, sliding limply through the crowd, idly dispersing the figures before her with a couple of numb hands that surely belonged to someone else, she kept wondering – how should she react? At the sight of a distressed Ginny. Should she cry? Scream? Spring to action?

She entered the hut to find Harry and Ron desperately trying to hold Ginny down as the latter writhed violently upon the splintered logs of the shelter. She clawed at their faces and grasped at their throats and smashed the back of her head against the floor over and over. And Hermione stood at the entrance and did absolutely nothing.

“Move!” An irritated tone sounded from behind her and she was aggressively shoved aside. Nott, with a grave expression on his face, marched into the hut, giving her an annoyed sideways glance. “Hold her up,” he ordered, placing a bowl onto the table.

“Are you having a laugh?” Harry managed to say between hits to the face. The glasses that were hanging askew over the bridge of his nose were finally struck and went flying across the room.

Neville rushed into the hut, followed closely by Luna. “I’ve got it!” Neville hopped over Ron’s legs toward Nott, holding up a fistful of moist roots still shedding chunks of soil. On the other end of the roots, pointing downward, were the soft pink petals of Valeriana. Hermione recognized the sickly sweet scent.

Nott grabbed the flower bunch and tossed it onto the table. “The sagebrush?”

Neville tentatively held out a few branches with dehydrated leaves. “It needs to be cooked,” he said timidly.

“Cook it, then,” Nott said, starting to rip the flower stems of the Valeriana from their pungent roots and tossing them aside. Neville nodded and hurried back outside. Nott directed Luna to squeeze the oils from the roots into the dish he’d brought in from outside. A creamy substance was already swirling at its bottom as Luna squeezed the yellow oils into it. Hermione cringed at the awful smell.

Ginny continued to wail and thrash on the floor as Luna and Nott hurriedly scraped the oil from the remainder of the roots, brushing the flowers to the ground, out of the way.

Malfoy tore through the entrance of the shelter. His face was twisted into a terrifying rage. “You need to shut her up!” Malfoy bellowed at Harry and Ron.

“We’re working on it,” Nott said calmly, without looking up.

Malfoy was holding up his wand, but he thought better of it, stuck it back into his trousers, and rounded on Nott, slamming his fists on the table. “Work faster!” Malfoy roared. “We can’t have her screaming for the entire world to hear.”

Luna looked up at Malfoy with a couple of big, round eyes. She blinked twice and said placidly, “We’ve got the shield charms up, Malfoy. Nobody will hear a thing.”

Hermione nearly choked on the shock. An aggressive terror gripped her, spread through her body like wildfire, throttling her on its way out. “The shields,” she whispered.

Malfoy turned to her with a dangerous look in his eye and shook his head.

She swallowed the rest of her sentence, thinking about the fissure in the shield that Malfoy had shown her. About all the other cracks that might be spattering their wards that they haven’t yet found.

Malfoy darted around the small table and grabbed a hold of Harry’s arm, bringing his face so close to Harry’s that their noses were practically touching. “You need to shut her up,” he hissed, “or I will.”

“How d’you propose I do that?” Harry twisted out of Malfoy’s grasp angrily.

Malfoy jumped back up to his feet and began pacing the expanse of the room as Ginny wailed at its centre.

Luna approached Malfoy and grabbed his hand. The latter froze and looked at her suspiciously. “You seem tense,” Luna’s mild voice cut through the screams.

Malfoy stared at her incredulously. “How perceptive of you,” he said.

“Here,” Luna moved closer to him and slipped something into his hand. “This might help you.”

Malfoy looked at Luna like she was mentally unsound. He lifted his hand and unfurled his fingers. Seeing the brown capped mushrooms in his hand, he glanced up at her in disbelief. “Did you just give me drugs, Luna?”

Luna shrugged. “You look like you could use a trip,” she said pensively.

“Right _now_?” Malfoy gaped at her.

Luna smiled. “Whatever keeps you out of our way.”

Malfoy's stunned gaze followed her as she walked back to the table. "And you just keep these in your back pocket?" he called.

…

“And Hermione what?” I say, sitting up straight in my seat. “Just stood there and did nothing?”

He fixes me with a long, contemplative look. Finally, he says, “She was in shock.”

I shake my head. “What a coward.”

The expression on Malfoy’s face is one of wonder. He seems amused at my interpretation. “Hermione,” he says quietly, but the vehemence is more than apparent in his tone, “was anything but a coward.”

…

Neville came back into the hut holding a small, steaming pot in his hands. Hermione vaguely wondered who had had the strength to conjure a pot for him.

“Granger, can you hold her head?” Nott grabbed the bowl from the table and the pot from Neville’s hands.

Hermione cautiously edged along the perimeter of the room, feeling the violent shaking that rattled her body from the inside out. It was as if her actual heart was trembling.

“Granger, her head!” Nott yelled, pouring the root oil over the cooked leaves of the foul-smelling sagebrush. Neville and Luna were helping Harry and Ron hold down Ginny’s thrashing limbs.

Malfoy was suddenly at her side, taking her hand, leading her toward Ginny. She began to walk faster as he steered her from behind by the shoulders. She knelt behind Ginny. Ginny’s face was contorted, tears were streaking her face, pooling in her ears. Hermione placed her hands under Ginny’s head. Her hair was soaked, her neck was sweating. Or was it blood?

Malfoy kept his hands on Hermione’s shoulders as she concentrated on keeping Ginny’s head steady, bringing it into her chest, stabilising it with her palms as Ginny threw it backwards and almost stuck Hermione on the chin.

As Nott dipped the bowl into the pot and brought it toward Ginny’s mouth, Ginny’s cries began to multiply. At first, Hermione thought that she was hearing things, then, – from behind her, she heard Malfoy’s voice.

“Is this a fucking joke?”

Nott glanced at the entrance and Hermione realized that the secondary cries were coming from outside. Through the small opening, Hermione could see the chaos. People running, screaming, falling. With Ginny’s head thrashing against her collarbone, Hermione felt the fear rise into her throat, suffocating her again. The terror plummeting into the pit of her stomach, her heart trying to punch its way out, her insides roiling as her body shook violently against the hands that still held her in place – perhaps the only anchor that grounded her.

Malfoy’s grip on her shoulders tightened. “They’re here,” he whispered.


	5. Chapter 5

“How are we going to fight?” Hermione breathed as Malfoy jumped up behind her. “We barely have enough power to cast a stunning spell.”

Ron darted toward the entrance and slid the wooden plank that served as a door across the opening. He muttered, “ _Colloportus_.”

“Yeah, Weasley,” Malfoy spat. “A locking charm. That’ll keep ‘em out.”

“You got a better idea?” Ron retorted.

“They’re killing our friends!” Neville sprang up. “We can’t just hide in here.”

“Why?” Hermione stood up. Her expression was grim. “It’s nothing we haven’t done before.”

All the faces in the room turned to look at her. They were all quiet for a few moments, save for Ginny’s screams. Harry was the only one still holding her down.

Finally, Malfoy said, “Nott, if you can’t get her to stop screaming, I’m going to knock her out, I swear.”

Nott blew out a steady breath and approached Ginny with the sedative bubbling in the bowl. He knelt down carefully and brought the bowl to Ginny’s lips as Hermione tried to hold her head. Half of the contents of the potion spilled over Ginny’s face and hung from her chin, swathed in her drool. It dribbled down her neck and stained her shirt but, the one gulp she did take seemed to be helping. Slowly, her thrashing began to subside, and a dense silence filled the room.

“Kill the lights,” Malfoy said, digging for his wand.

“You can’t be serious!” Harry exclaimed, finally dropping Ginny’s limp hand. “Our friends are out there getting slaughtered! Ron – your brother!”

Nott shot Harry a weary look – the first instance of emotion to come out of him all evening. Then he glanced at Hermione, who was already watching him. She tore her gaze away from him and looked at Ron, who was still standing by the door. He was thinking what they all knew – even if they did go out to fight, their friends wouldn’t make it. And neither would they.

Then, she heard Luna’s melodic voice: “ _Nox_.”

The room went dark.

…

“Are you an investigator?” Nott taps at the tip of his cigarette until the ash crumbles and falls away. He barely looks at me now.

“What would I be investigating?” I ask.

He looks up with only his eyes, peering up at me through his dark eyebrows. “Never mind,” he says.

…

They sat in the darkness in silence. The shrieks coming from outside were agonizing. Having not felt much of anything since their arrival in the Forbidden Forest, the heartrending screams prompted a sickening revival of Hermione’s emotions. She had her arms wrapped around her legs, her chin resting on her knees, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. Nobody within the shelter dared make a sound.

Nobody – until Hermione whimpered. She could almost feel the glares of the others turn on her, even if she couldn’t see them. The tears rolled down her cheeks and she could taste their salty flavour as they poured into her mouth. Then, someone took her by the hand. It was a gentle grasp, a reassuring squeeze. Someone shifted beside her, she heard the shuffle of movement, felt the warmth of someone’s arm against her own. The sympathy of her anonymous neighbour sent her into a deeper fit of silent sobs. Her shoulders were shaking when she felt the arm wrap around them, gripping her tightly, securely, in a place where she suddenly felt a touch safer. She lowered her head, felt a face brush against her hair, breathe into her ear. She felt a pair of lips rest against her forehead and she sunk deeper into the embrace, weeping into the unidentified chest.

It was entirely plausible that, if they remained still enough, their shelter would be wholly overlooked. They’d built the huts in the denser part of the forest just outside the clearing for this purpose. The shelters were shrouded with grasses and brush for warmth, but this also made them nearly undetectable, even in daylight. Under cover of darkness and disorder, they would likely go completely unnoticed.

After a little while, the commotion outside seemed to ease; the chaos disperse; the pandemonium cease. A cold, heavy silence replaced the screams. Hermione was viciously trembling against the strong arms of her companion and, for a long time after the last shriek, they remained silent. The stillness crushed around them like a deadweight, but a tacit trepidation hung among them. So, they waited.

Slowly, Hermione unravelled herself from the warmth of the arms that seemed reluctant to release her. She swallowed. “What have we done?” she whispered.

Her question was greeted with more silence.

“What have we _done_?” she said louder, her voice cracking.

“Shh!” A voice from across the room warned her. “We don’t know if they’re gone.” It was Ron.

Hermione heard Nott’s voice somewhere near Ron, “It doesn’t sound like there’s anyone left out there.”

“They might be waiting for us,” Luna mused.

“If they knew we were here, they’d have gotten us by now,” Harry’s voice sounded from somewhere ahead of her.

Neville, who spoke from a place a little farther away than Harry, said, “I agree. They’re gone.”

Hermione turned to her left, to the only person who hasn’t yet said a word, to the one sitting right next to her in the darkness.

Luna muttered, “ _Lumos_.”

Hermione blinked as her eyes adjusted to the sudden light. Her gaze fell on Malfoy, who was watching her quietly. A faint smile travelled across his lips before he looked away.

…

“Have you ever been in love?” I say. I have to admit, I’m getting bolder.

Malfoy chuckles, looks down. He lifts his glass and swirls its contents absently. “Me?” he says, the smile on his face looking like he’s hanging on to a precious memory for dear life. “Nah,” he says, “never.”

I watch as he sets down his whiskey without taking a drink. I know he’s lying, of course. But I wonder why. Ultimately, though, what did I expect? I imagine she broke his heart. And I really feel for him as he sits there, staring into the amber liquid still spinning in his glass. He looks downright miserable and I start to wonder if Hermione isn’t the villain in his story.

…

A loud thumping began to beat against the roof of the shelter. Rain. Water that seeped through the brush overhead dripped down the angled sides of the hut. The seven of them continued to sit in silence around a sleeping Ginny.

Nott sighed. “We need to bring in the firewood before it soaks through. Otherwise we won’t be lighting any fires tomorrow.”

“We can’t stay here,” Malfoy said. “Surely, you all see that now.”

“Don’t do that, Malfoy,” Hermione shook her head. “Don’t say ‘I told you so’.”

Malfoy glanced at her with a bitter expression on his face. “Wasn’t planning on it but, now that you’ve mentioned it –”

“Get stuffed, Malfoy,” Harry barked.

“The firewood,” Nott said.

“You get it,” Ron snapped at him.

“I’ll get it,” Malfoy rose with a sigh.

Hermione glanced up at him and he gave her another deadpan look. “I’ll come with you,” she said, without much of a second thought.

“Hermione –” Harry began.

“He can’t carry all the firewood by himself,” she said, but what she was thinking was, _He can’t be the only one to bear the sight of destruction begotten from their mutual cowardice_.

They gingerly walked around Ginny, heading for the exit. Before stepping outside, they took a moment to stand before the closed door, to savour the denial. Hermione felt the hammering in her chest amplify and, as if he could somehow sense it, Malfoy reached out and grasped her hand in his. “ _Alohamora_ ,” he said.

A murky darkness greeted them outside. They stepped out cautiously, holding their wands out as if they would be any use in an altercation. Malfoy muttered a lighting charm and extended his wand out to illuminate the clearing.

Hermione gasped. She clenched Malfoy’s hand. “Where are the bodies?” she whispered feverishly as they walked further out. The clearing was empty.

She turned to see Malfoy squinting into the darkness. The rain beat down sideways across her face, into her eyes and mouth. It dripped from Malfoy’s nose and lips, flattened his hair, leaving blond strands plastered across his forehead. “They took them,” he breathed.

“Took the bodies?” Hermione’s voice came out shaking.

Malfoy breathed a heavy sigh. “Took them _alive_.”

“Why?” Hermione said. “Why would they take them alive?”

Malfoy turned to her with callous hostility. “Why do you think?” he spat. He dropped her hand and turned away. He picked up a pile of logs and, before Hermione could say anything, he flung them into the ground with a force that made them rebound off the saturated earth, rainwater splashing across her legs. Malfoy didn’t stop there. He tore through another pile of logs and kindling, tossing them about haphazardly. Picked up the stones lining the fire pit and hurled them across the clearing, screaming.

“Malfoy!” Hermione yelled. “Malfoy, enough!”

He rounded on her. “Are you satisfied?” he shouted, grabbing her by the shirt, pushing her backward, sending her stumbling as he released the bunch of material that he’d twisted into his fingers. “Are you _pleased_?” He advanced on her. “Were they worth it?” he bellowed, pointing a finger at the shelter behind her.

“You’re blaming me?” she yelled hoarsely.

“We weren’t supposed to be here!” The rain spattered across his face, the rush of it louder than their screams.

“They’re alive!” Hermione was sobbing. “That’s a good thing!”

Malfoy started to laugh cruelly. “You think that’s a good thing?” He shook his head, his voice suddenly dropping to a venomous whisper. “I never took you for naïve, Granger.”

She blinked at him through the torrent separating their faces like a wall. “How could you stand here and judge _me_?”

“Oh no,” he said. “I’m not judging.” He shook his head, chuckling mildly, insincerely. “You just,” he sighed, fixing her with a wretched look, “you were supposed to be the good one.”

Hermione knitted her brows, taken aback. “What,” she said, “I disappointed you?”

He shook his head. “No,” he said quietly, and after a long while, added, “you could never do that.”

Hermione swallowed uncomfortably and looked away. “We’re all despicable human beings. The lot of us.” She gestured toward the shelter.

…

I know where this story is headed. I’ve heard a twisted version of it before. But as he sits before me, with that wretchedness consuming him so entirely, I begin to regret my sick desire to learn his truth.

“You miss her,” I say. It’s not a question.

Malfoy chuckles. “Do I, now?” he says.

…

“Oy, what’s going on?” Nott peeked out from the shelter. “You get lost or something?”

Malfoy slowly turned his head toward Nott, grimacing.

When neither Hermione nor Malfoy responded, Nott stepped out of the hut and strode toward them. When he drew nearer, he said, “Everything alright here?” He looked back and forth between Malfoy and Hermione, who were probably standing a touch closer than usual.

“Everything’s fine,” Malfoy said harshly and walked off. He began to collect the logs he had previously tossed about.

Nott glanced down at Hermione. If his composed expression revealed anything at all, it was concern. “You alright, Granger?”

She nodded.

Nott looked around at the firewood which was strewn about in the clearing. “Where is everybody?” he said.

“Taken,” Hermione said impassively.

Nott breathed out a heavy sigh and began picking the soaking wood up off the ground.

…

The last few days of interviews with Nott and Malfoy have left me at odds with another adaptation of the narrative – the one I’d been fed before. A separate but equally plausible sequence of events. I suppose there are some truths in both accounts, as well as many, many lies. I suspect that, at one point or another, Malfoy’s story and Nott’s will also begin to deviate from one another.  
I’d spent my afternoons with Nott as he put away one cigarette after another. Persistently guarded in his responses. Quiet. Subtle.

My evenings I’d reserved for Malfoy, with his proclivity for whiskey, who, to my immense surprise, was quite often an open book. Not in terms of direct honesty so much as in terms of his telling gaze. He was not so adept as Nott at feigning apathy.

What had I originally sought out to accomplish? Don’t even ask me because, by now, my motives may very well have changed.

I may have skirted the truth to attain a face to face interaction with the wizarding world’s most notorious war hero. Let’s be honest, Draco Malfoy’s persona has been explored in the tabloids even more often than Kinglsey Shacklbolt’s illustrious career. Malfoy was no stranger to fame.

Theodore Nott – one of England’s top neuro-healers – had been more difficult to track down. In between his travelling the world for healing conferences and hiding out in his remote cabin like a recluse the remainder of the time, Nott hadn’t been the easiest of targets. I was finally able to connect with him through his mother who lives in muggle London, and who graciously set up our first meeting.

I’m sitting at the rickety table on the patio, sipping on a Sangria, sifting through my notes, and wondering which character I despise the most. Because they’ve become roles to me – not people. And their history, more and more, is transforming into a cautionary tale. What not to do when the world collapses. I sigh. I used to adore these people. And now I’m finding it difficult not to pass judgment.

Still, the moment I see Nott cut across the busy street toward the pub, flit up the steps to the patio, stride over to my table, my pulse accelerates considerably. Nearly twice my age and yet Theodore Nott is undeniably dripping with sex.

He casts a couple of dark eyes in my direction as he lowers himself into the seat across from mine. The cigarette is already in his mouth, but he takes it out to say, “Afternoon, little lady,” and blows a stream of smoke through the corner of his mouth, away from my face.

Naturally, I melt.


	6. Chapter 6

If ever there was a time to regroup, it was now. The lot of them, save for Harry and Ginny, sat around the fire the following evening, but the conversation was sparse. They had to find another place to lay low, they all knew it. Transporting Ginny would be a risk they would have to take. It was finally decided that two parties would venture out in search of a suitable location before they aimlessly moved Ginny.

At first light, Neville and Luna headed west into the forest. The members of the second party were decided on in the morning. Harry obviously couldn’t go – he would not leave Ginny’s side. Nott needed to stay in case Ginny’s condition worsened. Ron had offered to go but Hermione had convinced him to stay with his sister.

“Ready?” Malfoy said to Hermione after collecting a handful of berries from the communal basket at the door. He threw them into a sack he’d fashioned from a piece of torn clothing that he wore over his shoulder.

“Ready,” she said with a sigh, stuffing her own bag with berries and button mushrooms. She waved a wary hand at Ron and Harry, gave Nott a curt nod, and walked out after Malfoy.

…

The wind blew off the lake ferociously as they trailed along the shore, keeping close to the water at Harry’s suggestion. Not only was this the safest way to retain their access to water, it also allowed them to collect the beached seaweed to eat as they walked. The crunchy, green, sea lettuce was Hermione’s favourite by far, and it was quite abundant as the waves pushed the algae toward the shore.

They had been hiking all day and, despite the bitter cold, Hermione was quite comfortable largely due to the fair amount of exercise the trek required. But, as the sun began to set behind the glassy waters of the Black Lake, she wondered how they’d outlast the chill of the night.

The dusk settled around them quickly, the shadows of the forest becoming more menacing in the darkness. Malfoy shifted closer to Hermione, despite the charged silence between them. She felt his arm brush up against hers and jerked away in agitation. She didn’t want him anywhere near her after his outburst the other night. Although she admittedly felt silly holding a grudge at a time such as this, when they were quite literally just struggling to survive, it made her feel more like her old self than anything else. After all, had she expected anything less from Malfoy, really?

Malfoy stopped abruptly. “We have about half an hour of daylight left. We’d better set up camp before it’s too late.”

“Alright.” Hermione dropped her bag and pulled out her wand.

Together, they built a makeshift shelter no larger than a standard sleeping sack, piling driftwood against a small escarpment and covering it with piles of dried leaves, branches of furry pine, and soil for warmth. It was all they could manage with their limited resources and lack of time.

Malfoy regarded their creation dubiously. “You first,” he finally said.

Hermione rolled her eyes and scoffed. “You’re such a child, Malfoy.” She began to climb into the shelter which, while not doing much for the cold, at least considerably cut the wind. She stretched out her legs and shivered. “Get in!” she hissed.

“One of us should keep watch,” he said. “We haven’t got any shields up.”

“Malfoy, if you don’t get in, I’m going to freeze to death.”

Malfoy let out a sigh and lifted his foot into the shelter, sliding his body in next to hers. Hermione gulped as she felt his legs settle down against hers. She closed her eyes and tightened her lips as she drew her legs closer to his, needing his warmth. She felt his breath hitch and her eyes flew open. His face was just above hers and the grey eyes searched hers for something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

She pressed her cold hands into his chest, which was surprisingly hot. She spread out her fingers against him, ensuring maximum contact, and tucked her head under his chin. “You don’t tell a soul, you hear, Malfoy?” she managed to say through her chattering teeth.

She heard the low roll of a chuckle in his throat. “Me? Tell anyone that I laid with a Mudblood? Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Hermione was so outraged at his language that she twisted his nipple in retaliation before she could stop herself. He let out a yelp and pulled his legs up reflexively. She felt his hand land on her waist in his disorientation.

“Bloody hell, Granger, I was only joking!” he laughed.

“It’s not funny, Malfoy,” she said sternly.

He let out a heavy sigh and rested his cool cheek on the top of her head. “I know,” he said quietly. “Sorry.” The hand that had landed on her waist slowly trailed up her back and over her shoulder, finally clasping around her hands. She felt the heat of his grasp through the tips of her frozen fingers, the warmth spreading blissfully into her wrists and along her arms. Soon, her body was warm enough that she stopped shivering.

…

He watches me like he can see right through me, even in his inebriated state. I find myself cowering once more.

“What was it like?” I ask, attempting to distract him from his searing scrutiny. “Being a soldier.”

He cringes somewhat. “Whose?”

I’m taken aback but I do know what he means. I look down, upset that I inadvertently hurt him. “Not Voldemort’s,” I say quietly.

He sighs and takes some time to ponder on it. “I guess,” he says finally, “it was, more than anything else, terrifying.”

I glance up at him and see that his grey eyes are swimming.

“Can’t tell you how many times I’ve saved my own skin at the expense of someone else’s life,” he says bitterly. “Some war hero, huh?”

…

It was the first sunny day in weeks. The rays broke through the relentless cloud cover at a magnificent angle and streaked across the sky in majesty, sparkled along the rippling surface of the water. She woke to the sound of birds and the heat of the sun baking her face. For the first time since she’d set foot in the forest, she felt _warm_.

Nestled safely within the cocoon of their shelter, against Malfoy’s sleeping form, she found herself vaguely musing that, in that moment, she genuinely desired nothing more from life. Why did she have to be a hero? On some quest or other? Fighting for good? She realized how despicably miserable it had made her. Where now, here, she was suddenly selfishly happy.

She noted Malfoy’s fingers still wrapped around her hands, perceived their delightful warmth. She studied the trail of dirt along his cheek that blotched his otherwise gentle complexion. When he slept, his menacing mask gave way to a peaceful sort of countenance. The crease between his eyebrows that seemed to be a permanent feature in his face had disappeared, the tight set of his jaw relaxed, the condescending smirk erased. His dark lashes rested over his cheeks and she even observed the shadows beneath his eyes had faded. He looked alright – handsome even. Hermione shuttered at the thought and began to lift herself out of the shelter.

Malfoy awoke with a start when she moved. His grip around her hands tightening, he nearly jumped out of his own skin. The entire shelter shook when he jerked. Hermione almost felt sorry for him. “You’re alright,” she said.

“I know I’m alright,” he said gruffly, releasing her hands from his grasp with what looked like disgust.

…

They continued their trek along the river in silence, looking for a small clearing with a naturally fortified perimeter that would allow them some time to escape in case of an attack. Something with a dense cover of trees or perhaps shielded by a substantial rock face.

“So, at what point did Draco Malfoy decide to switch sides?” Hermione said, about halfway through a day of near total silence between them.

“Straight forward as ever, Granger,” Malfoy chuckled.

She smiled to herself because, if she were being honest, only Malfoy had been able to bring about the elements of her character that she’d feared she’d lost forever.

“I guess I’d always planned on it,” he said. “Just waiting for an opportunity.”

“Always?” Hermione gave him a skeptical look.

“I never wanted it, you know?” he stopped walking and looked at her. The receding rays of sunlight painting his face in a rosy glow. He gestured to his arm, lifting his sleeve up to expose his mark.

“Funny,” she said resentfully. “I never wanted this either.” She held up her own branded forearm.

He looked down. Slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers. Started to shuffle his feet in the earth underneath them, digging them into little trenches. He looked ashamed. When he glanced back up, his eyes looked tortured. “I’m sorry,” was all he said.

Hermione shrugged and made to continue their journey when he stopped her.

He watched her for a good five seconds, remained silent and pensive for another ten. “It was the worst day of my life,” he said.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “The day you got your mark?”

Malfoy sighed. “The day you got yours.”

Hermione looked at him with a bitterness she didn’t even bother to conceal. “You should’ve done it right the first time around, Malfoy,” she said nastily. “Regret is a waste of emotion.”

…

“Do you regret it?” I hesitate with this one. It hurts me to see the pain in his eyes.

He smiles sadly. “A rather leading question.”

I watch as he ruffles his blond hair again, stalling. As he downs another shot. As he squints his eyes at me to keep my face in focus.

“Doesn’t really matter, does it?” he says. “Regret is a waste of emotion.”

I’m not buying it. “And yet,” I say, “what if you could do it all over again?”

He shrugs. “I should’ve done it right the first time around.”

I rest my cheek on my fist, my elbow on the table, and think about it. “I disagree,” I say finally. “Regret is how you learn to do it right the second time around.”

“Sometimes,” he says, “there’s no opportunity for a second time around.”

…

“What do you want me to say, Hermione?” He always sounded more genuine when he said her first name. Like he was done with the banter and the quips. Like he just wanted to get his point across. Like he was vulnerable. “That I’m a coward?”

Hermione shrugged. “That you _were_.”

Malfoy shook his head. “Nothing’s changed.” He heaved a sigh. “I still ran away from the fight, didn’t I?”

Hermione blinked at him with her brows knitted together. “You saved me, remember?”

He chuckled bitterly. “Right, I saved _you_.”

Hermione watched him wrestle with his misery for a while before saying, “I let all my friends die while I hid in fear. So, nobody’s perfect, I suppose.”

He looked up at her. “They’re not dead.”

She shrugged. “Worse, right?”

“Right,” he said.

“Point is,” she said, “I’ve no business passing judgement.”

“Neither do I.” He stepped closer to her.

“Do or don’t,” she said. “Your opinion hardly matters to me.” She turned away and started walking once more.

Malfoy’s mouth broke into a subtle grin as she walked away, and he shook his head. Unhurriedly, he followed after her. “One day, that’ll change,” he said as he caught up to her.

“I highly doubt that,” she said.

Malfoy laughed. “You’re entertaining, Granger. I’ll give you that.”

…

They stopped for the day in a small clearing near the water. There was a slight dip in elevation and the ground here was damp but, as a result, it was effectively hidden, being tucked under a ridge on three sides. The sloped banks also sheltered it from much of the blowing wind. It was, in a word, perfect. They decided to camp out for the night and report back with their find the following day.

Building a shelter this time was downright easy. They worked quickly, already knowing exactly how to set it up to block the gusts off the lake. They faced the entrance of their shelter east to allow the rays of the rising sun to warm them up after the chill of the night. They piled debris along the slanting driftwood in a hurry, warming themselves up with the quick movements before retiring for the night – anything they could find they tossed on: leaves, fern branches, tree bark, pine needles, grass. They assembled the hut so quickly that they’d forgotten to pull out their wands.

“It’s currently about as useful as firewood, anyhow,” Malfoy joked at their oversight, brandishing his wand around carelessly.

Hermione pursed her lips but ended up half-smiling at his lively mood. “Never thought I’d see the day Draco Malfoy renounces his birthright.”

“Yes,” Malfoy nodded, smirking. “Wait until my father hears about my misadventures of surviving in the wilderness the muggle way.”

Hermione’s smile widened slightly, and she blew at the hair that had fallen into her eyes to suppress her grin.

“You know,” Malfoy said, throwing another bunch of branches over their shelter, “you’re alright, Granger.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He straightened his back and rolled his bottom lip under his teeth, smiling. “I mean, you’re not a drag.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “A drag? Says the pretentious prat.”

“I said you’re _not_ , Granger,” Malfoy laughed.

“But you’re surprised,” Hermione pressed.

Malfoy’s smiling face was beginning to overwhelm her. She’d never seen him smile this much before. He shook his head, still chuckling. “No,” he said, “I’m not surprised, Granger.” He looked at her thoughtfully, as if considering something of utmost importance. Looked right into her eyes.

She looked away uncomfortably when his gaze rested on her at length.

“So, how long have you been seeing Harry?” he said, throwing the last few pieces of dried fern over the side of the driftwood.

Her eyes shot toward him in shock. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Granger, I’m not an idiot.”

“Are we taking a poll?”

Malfoy fixed her with an amused expression. “Ron doesn’t know, does he?”

“There’s nothing to know,” Hermione huffed angrily, starting to collect chunks of grass again.

“Well, if you’re not together, then you’d like to be,” he said.

“You’re insane.”

Malfoy came up to her and clutched the grass in her hand as she frantically bent down to get more. “We’ve got enough, Granger,” he said quietly.

“Right,” she said, taking in a deep breath and gulping. She looked up at him. “How did you know?”

Malfoy shrugged. “The way you look at him. The way he makes you angry. And you asked me about him when you were nearly dead.”

“I did?”

Malfoy nodded. “You did. You told me to go back for him.”

“How did you know I wasn’t talking about Ron?”

Malfoy smirked. “I’m not sure. But I knew.”

Hermione looked down. She didn’t know how to respond.

Malfoy squeezed her hand reassuringly, taking the bunch of grass out of her grasp. “You and Ron never made sense anyway,” he said, walking away to spread the grass chunks over their shelter. “You and Harry, on the other hand?” he said, a hint of displeasure in his tone, so subtle that Hermione might have imagined it, “You and Harry make a lot of sense.” He turned to look at her. “Right?”

Hermione nodded slowly. “Right.”

Malfoy turned his attention to the floor of their shelter, matting down the leaves and grass to widen the entrance.

“He doesn’t know,” Hermione blurted out. Malfoy glanced back over his shoulder and straightened his back to face her. Hermione swallowed uncomfortably. “Harry doesn’t know …” she paused for a few moments before continuing, “doesn’t know how I feel.”

Malfoy watched her placidly. “I doubt that very much.”

“He doesn’t and you can’t tell him.”

Malfoy’s gaze rested on her for a while before he turned back to the shelter. He shuffled the foliage on the floor of the shelter once more before finally speaking again. “I won’t say anything.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Malfoy began to climb into the shelter, driving his feet in first. She followed him, slipping her legs in next to his once he stretched out inside. As she settled in beside him and shivered against his body, he continued to observe her carefully.

“Can I help you, Malfoy?” she said.

“Just curious,” he said, “why you don’t want him to know.”

“He’s with Ginny,” she said, inching herself further into the shelter until her face was level with Malfoy’s.

He was lying very still, with his hands under his head, still watching her. “In case you haven’t noticed, Ginny’s a goner,” he said.

Hermione smacked him across the shoulder, and he let out a yelp. “You are so insensitive!” she cried.

“Ow!” Malfoy rubbed at his shoulder. “You are so violent.” After some time, Malfoy spoke again. “I’m surprised you’re fighting so hard to keep her alive.”

Hermione glared at him. “Is that what you would do, Malfoy?” she said. “Kill the competition?”

Malfoy smirked. “Don’t tempt me.”


	7. Chapter 7

Nott was squinting his eyes, looking back and forth between Neville and Hermione. A glint of moonlight danced in his dark eyes, settled in their depths, changed their constitution. The glow of it in the cloudless sky colored his pale skin into a bluish translucence, especially against his black hair, his crimson lips. He had his hand over his mouth, looking as though he might be suppressing a grin.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “We needed a place by the water and now we’ve got one. I don’t know why we’re still discussing this.”

Neville threw his hands up in the air in dismay. “By the water, we’ll be fully exposed! Any fires we make they’ll see from across the lake.”

Hermione sighed and rubbed at her eyebrow. Her tangles of hair have finally become one glob of a nest at the nape of her neck and she no longer had strands of it to tuck behind her ears to keep her hands busy.

“There’s a creek running just by the clearing we found. There will be plenty of fresh water there,” Neville said. He was looking at Nott as if he were the one to convince.

Hermione scoffed. “Until they decide to dry up the riverbed.”

Neville turned his gaze toward her with irritation. “Or freeze over the lake,” Neville glared at her.

“Alright, alright,” Nott held up his hands. He was no longer bothering to conceal his smirk. “I appreciate your enthusiasm,” he said to them, winking at Hermione. “I think the deciding factor will be which is closer, considering –” he gestured toward the inside of the shelter where Ginny and Harry were still situated.

…

“This log taken?”

Malfoy looked up to see Luna squatting next to him by the fire. He grimaced at her and shuffled sideways gruffly.

Luna held up a stick toward the fire, a small rodent speared through its end. “See any Dabberblimps by the lake?” she said mildly.

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow at her. He rubbed his hands together and looked over Luna’s head at the conversation taking place outside of Ginny’s hut. Hermione looked to be standing her ground, he noticed, his chest cavity suddenly housing an uncomfortable sense of pride.

“That’s the problem with being so close to the water,” Luna mused. “Dabberblimps are quite hostile.”

Malfoy’s gaze shifted back to Luna. “So are Death Eaters,” he said sourly.

“Hmm,” Luna twisted her spit over the fire with a thoughtful look. “I suppose,” she said finally.

Malfoy looked back to Nott and Hermione, who were now standing outside of the shelter alone. Neville must have stepped into Ginny’s hut. Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Nott when the latter chuckled at something Hermione had said and she subsequently looked down, smiling. Malfoy pursed his lips and directed a scowl toward the fire. “Luna!” he jumped up and grabbed the skewer from her hands. “You’re burning your bloody rat!” The end of Luna’s stick was one giant fireball.

“Oh,” Luna said calmly. “Look at that.”

Malfoy heaved a sigh, blowing out the last bits of flame still engulfing the animal. “You can’t hold it right in the fire,” he said. “Watch,” he motioned her to step closer as he maneuvered the stick over the smoke. “If it burns on the outside too quickly, it won’t be cooked on the inside,” he said, rotating the spit just above the flames. “You want to cook it through and, preferably, evenly.”

“Thanks,” Luna said, watching as Malfoy positioned the stick over the fire. “This is my first time,” she said quietly.

Malfoy glanced over his shoulder and fixed her with a look. “Really? I’d have never guessed,” he said. He brought the stick up, examining his work.

“Would you like to try to multiply it like we did the berries?” Luna looked up at Malfoy when he placed the blackened squirrel on the stone by the fire, sliding it off his skewer with a second stick.

He made a face at the charred animal and then at Luna. Then he shrugged. “Why not?”

Luna took out her wand. “We might be able to make one more,” she said hopefully.

Malfoy pointed his wand at the squirrel. Together, they said, “ _Geminio _.”__

____

Nothing happened.

____

Luna sighed.

____

“I guess a cooked rodent’s more tricky to replicate than some berries,” Malfoy said.

____

Luna furrowed her eyebrows. “We’re getting weaker.” She picked up the animal and tore off a chunk, wincing at the heat seeping through her fingertips. “Here,” she said, holding out the piece to Malfoy.

____

He looked up at her and blinked. “There’s barely enough there for one person, Luna.”

____

She shrugged. “You helped me cook it. Fair’s fair.”

____

Malfoy fastened her with a pointed look. Then, he rose impatiently, saying, “I wouldn’t eat that garbage if you paid me, Luna.”

____

Luna chuckled as he sauntered off toward the shelter.

____

__

____

…

____

__  
_  
_

____

“Any change with Ginny?” Hermione said.

____

Nott shook his head solemnly. He looked over at Malfoy and Luna who appeared to be fighting over a rat on a stick.

____

“Do you think she’ll make it?” she said.

____

“I think,” he said, his gaze softening considerably as he continued speaking, “that we shouldn’t count on it.”

____

Hermione let out a frustrated sigh. They watched one another for a few moments in silence.

____

Then, he said, “It’s nice to have you back, though.” His mouth twitched into a quick, subtle smile.

____

“What d’you mean by that?”

____

“Ah,” he said, “you know exactly what I mean.” He smiled at her in a sheepish manner that appeared simultaneously mischievous and graceful.

____

Hermione began chewing on her bottom lip. “I wouldn’t say that I’m _back_.”

____

Nott’s smile widened. “Well,” he said, “let’s just say, until today, I haven’t heard you voice an actual opinion since, well, since Hogwarts.”

____

Hermione knitted her eyebrows and considered his observation.

____

“Not to mention so forcefully,” he chuckled.

____

“Okay,” Hermione nodded, laughing. “You’re not entirely wrong,” she said finally.

____

Hermione heard Malfoy bark something at Luna and looked over at them practically dancing around the flames like a couple of maenads. She shook her head. “He’s such a tyrant.”

____

Nott let out a hearty laugh. “You don’t actually think so,” he said, his eyes alight with amusement.

____

“I do. He’s awful,” she said, shaking her head. But her mouth was slipping into a different sort of smile. “I despise him, truly, I do.”

____

Nott watched Malfoy take the spit from Luna and hold it in the smoke above the fire. “He’s not so bad.”

____

__

____

…

____

__  
_  
_

____

I think I may be falling in love with him. With the way he speaks. A slow and deliberate string of purposeful words. In a deep, unassuming baritone. The way he observes the world with nearly indifferent contemplation. The way his eyes light up despite himself when he becomes suddenly emotional. The rare moments his passion betrays his usually detached demeanour.

____

I certainly can see how she had fallen for him.

____

He taps his fingers gently on the table, musing over my latest question. Funny, I’ve forgotten what I’d asked. He looks up and a slight grin steals over his features. “Can you repeat the question?” he says.

____

I laugh. “No,” I say, shaking my head.

____

He watches me curiously as I continue to laugh. His smirk widens and he begins to chuckle.

____

And suddenly we’re both laughing hysterically. I’m laughing so hard that my eyes are stinging from my running mascara. I look at him, wiping at my cheeks. Proudly, I think to myself, I made Theodore Nott, renowned professor, elusive personality – brilliant, unapproachable Theodore Nott – laugh.

____

__

____

…

____

__  
_  
_

____

Harry rubbed his hands together, hunched his shoulders, as he sat before the fire. It was one of the first nights that he’d left Ginny’s side. Hermione approached him tentatively. She looked over at Malfoy, who was sitting on the log across. He lifted his eyebrows and nodded toward Harry. She rolled her eyes and planted herself roughly beside Harry. So forcefully, in fact, that Harry started.

____

“So,” she said quickly, “it’s been decided.”

____

“What has?” Harry said placidly.

____

Hermione blinked at him momentarily. “The clearing in the woods. The one Luna and Neville found. That’s where we’re going,” she said. “It’s closer.” Harry nodded unenthusiastically and Hermione looked over at Malfoy nervously. Malfoy was watching her coolly. She sighed. “Look, Harry,” she said, not certain how to talk to him anymore, “we, uh, I need to speak to you about something.”

____

Malfoy groaned loudly from the other side of the firepit. Hermione shot him a dangerous look over the flames.

____

“Not now, alright, Hermione?” Harry said dully, rising from his seat.

____

Hermione watched him pass before her eyes, a terror tackling the pit of her stomach as it had before, when she’d feared she’d lost him. She felt as though she might be sick from the onslaught of fear brought on by his apathy. She would drop right back into the void without Harry. Surely, she would. She couldn’t even look at the face across from her, over the crackling fire. She couldn’t look Malfoy in the eye. Not even when she saw him rise.

____

“Potter,” she heard Malfoy say as she continued to watch the flames dance before her eyes. “I’ve never met a bigger idiot than you.”

____

But Harry barely noticed Malfoy’s presence. He seemed to have retracted into a state of automatic processing whereby his movements were not part of a conscious effort. His actions not governed by a stream of thought. He continued walking sullenly back toward the tent, pushing past a confrontational looking Malfoy.

____

The next moment, Malfoy was sitting down beside her. It didn’t matter though, because he wasn’t Harry. All she’d gained in the last few days, she’d lost in a matter of seconds. She heard Malfoy suck in a breath, and she seethed at his presence.

____

“That could’ve gone better,” he finally said.

____

“Leave, Malfoy,” she said through gritted teeth.

____

He chuckled. “Where would you have me go?”

____

“Anywhere but here.”

____

Malfoy pursed his lips and nudged her shoulder with his. “Ah, it’s just Potter. Who the fuck cares?”

____

She looked up at him incredulously and fixed him with a livid stare. “You’ve obviously never been in love.”

____

He didn’t respond right away, just watched her, a slight smirk on his face. Finally, he said, “You’re in love with him?” he said doubtfully. “You sure about that, Granger?”

____

“Go _away_ , Malfoy,” she hissed, turning away and dropping her head into her palm.

____

“You’re being quite dramatic,” he said.

____

“What – what will it take to get you to _leave me alone_?” she rounded on him.

____

Malfoy was still grinning. “Thought maybe you could use a friend.”

____

Hermione glared at him. “Tell me when you find me one.”

____

“Alright, alright,” Malfoy chuckled. “You’re wrong, by the way,” he said as he rose.

____

“About what, Malfoy?”

____

“That I’ve never been in love.”

____

“Please,” Hermione shook her head. “Demons are incapable of love.”

____

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, I know you didn’t mean that.”

____

“Get _off_ ,” Hermione shrugged her shoulders violently, brushing off his hand.

____

__

____

…

____

__  
_  
_

____

“There’s a rumour,” I say, shifting in my seat uncomfortably. He looks up at me in anticipation. “That you and Theodore Nott had a falling out,” I pause, trying to read his face, “of sorts.”

____

The corners of Malfoy’s lips curl up somewhat. He tends not to look me in the eye when he’s got something to hide. Finally, he shakes his head. “Just a rumour.”

____

I watch him carefully as he stares into the bottom of his empty glass. “Did you know that he’s in town?” I ask. This is cruel of me.

____

He looks up at me with the kind of hurt in his eyes that I can feel from across the table. “Is he, now?”

____

I nod, pressing my lips together, allowing my brows to flit up in a sympathetic glance.

____

He continues to smile. “We were never all that close, really.”

____

__

____

…

____

__  
_  
_

____

“What’s our next move?” Neville said as they were packing up their camp.

____

“Our next move? Let’s see. How about making it to our new home without being eaten by giant spiders?” Ron said, hoisting up the bottom left corner of the stretcher they had made for Ginny. “Or Fluffy,” he muttered as an afterthought.

____

“Surely our plan isn’t to just hide out in the Forbidden Forest indefinitely,” Neville said.

____

Malfoy, gripping the top right corner of Ginny’s stretcher, said, “Why don’t you just tell us what’s on your mind, Longbottom?”

____

“Our friends have been captured,” Neville said, as their party moved forward out of the clearing.

____

Hermione looked over at Ron who was blinking at the back of Harry’s head as they walked. Hermione switched the hand carrying Ginny’s stretcher and turned her head to find Nott behind her. He was wearing a dubious expression.

____

When nobody answered him, Neville continued, “We’ve got to find them.”

____

“How do you propose we do that?” Ron grumbled.

____

Neville said, “We’ll need to strategize.”

____

“I’m all for strategy,” Ron said. “Not so much for suicide, I’ll be honest.”

____

“I agree,” Harry said. Ahead of Hermione, Malfoy gave Harry a stunned look. “We wouldn’t even know where to look, Neville.”

____

“We know that they’re still patrolling the grounds,” Neville pressed.

____

“What are you suggesting,” Malfoy said, “that we spy?”

____

Neville stopped in his tracks and smiled. “That’s not a bad idea, that.”

____

“That’s ridiculous,” Hermione said.

____

A rustle of a cranberry bush up ahead cut their conversation short. They froze as a few berries fell to the ground, instantly falling silent. Nott brought a finger up to his lips in warning, holding out a hand as he walked ahead. Then he scrunched up his face, narrowing his eyes. Both his arms dropped at once.

____

“Cho?” he said.

____

From behind the gnarled trunk of an old oak, Cho stepped out before them, shuffling the branches of the nearby bush. The clothes she wore were ripped and hanging off of her like drapes. Her skeletal wrists twisted around themselves as she moved forward. Her fingers wound through one another nervously. Her wild eyes darted unblinkingly between each of them. Her cracked lips quivered.

____

“Cho!” Harry cried out, rushing toward her.

____

Malfoy swooped down to grab Harry’s corner of Ginny’s stretcher with a groan just as Harry released it. Malfoy sighed in frustration, adjusting his grip on the end he was now holding alone, and giving Hermione a look of disdain. Hermione looked up at Cho suspiciously as Harry wrapped his arms around her.

____

“Where the bloody hell did she come from?” Ron muttered to Hermione’s left.

____

Hermione switched the hand holding Ginny’s cot, shaking the other one out. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

____

__

____

…

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_  
_

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Nott leans onto his elbows and fixes me with a musing expression. “Who are you?” he says.

____

I instantly withdraw. I’m finding it harder and harder to lie to him.

____

“What’s your name?”

____

“Didn’t I –” I say slowly, laughing nervously, “didn’t I introduce myself?”

____

His gaze is dissecting my soul as we speak. “Hardly,” he says.

____

I nod. “Okay.”

____


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you to everyone who's read this far and has sent wonderful comments and messages my way! I absolutely love hearing your thoughts, predictions, and analyses of the story. I prefer not to give much away in terms of plot but I do want to put forth a general warning that this story deals with some uncomfortable themes that can be triggering. Please proceed with caution. All my love. -OhLenaLena

"I don't like this," Nott was saying. He and Hermione were carrying the back end of Ginny's stretcher, huffing with fatigue, while Harry walked ahead with Cho. Cho appeared disoriented and weak, yet she walked with Harry mostly unsupported.

Malfoy looked back at them from the front end of Ginny's cot. He groaned as he stumbled over some stones on the ground which he didn't see coming on account of turning to look at Nott. "You and me both, brother," he said after cursing for half a minute.

Nott gave Malfoy a grave look. Nott often communicated without words.

"What's not to like?" Ron said, wincing as he switched his hands on the corner of the stretcher. "Pretty girl comes back from the dead."

Malfoy shot Ron a scathing look.

"What?" Ron said. "You never seen a ghost before, Malfoy?"

"This is no time for your idiotic jokes, Weasley," Malfoy spat.

"It is strange," Hermione narrowed her eyes as Harry helped Cho across a particularly uneven stretch of exposed roots. "We're meant to believe, what? That she just somehow escaped?"

Nott looked over at her and shook his head. "Something doesn't add up."

"She could be a spy," Neville whispered behind them.

"She just all of a sudden switched sides?" Luna said, squeezing herself between Hermione and Nott. "Here, I can take over," she said, relieving Hermione as she gripped the corner of the stretcher.

"Thanks, Luna," Hermione said, rubbing her hands together and bringing them up to her mouth to blow out a breath of hot air against her frozen fingers.

"Worked for Malfoy," Neville muttered, and Nott gave him a sideways glance. "I can take the other end, Theo," Neville said.

Nott nodded at him and stepped aside as Neville took up his corner. Luna gave Neville a small smile as he hoisted his corner higher, taking the bulk of the weight upon himself.

Nott and Hermione fell behind. The woods loomed over them with coils of swaying branches, overgrown and uninhibited. With the recent frost, the deciduous trees had begun to shed their leaves anew, even their freshest buds stood little chance against the changing weather. Nott slipped his hands into the pockets of his tattered trousers and looked over at Hermione. He studied her for a while before asking, "What are you thinking?"

Hermione shrugged.

"You think they let her go."

Hermione looked up at him with a solemn expression on her face. "Don't you?"

Nott glanced back up at Cho and Harry at the forefront. "The question is, why?"

…

"Some accounts depict Theodore Nott as having lost his mind," I say.

Malfoy looks up at me and moves his mouth sideways, pursing his lips thoughtfully. Then he chuckles, "Well, he certainly wasn't the only one."

I give him a sympathetic smile. "It was a difficult journey."

Malfoy raises his eyebrows. "That would be an understatement."

I lean forward uncomfortably and give him a serious look. "I don't mean – I don't mean what you think I mean."

Malfoy slopes over the table, his eyes exploring my face. "Why don't you tell me what you mean, then?"

I swallow loudly and wince self-consciously, feeling heat flood my face. "I mean _after_. After it was over, why did he disappear?"

"Disappear?" Malfoy scoffs derisively. "The man receives more attention from the media than Viktor Krum. You'd want to disappear too."

"He – does he still keep in contact …" I trail off slowly.

"With?"

"With anybody?"

"Fuck if I know," Malfoy leans back in his seat and his expression says that he's not fond of the topic of conversation. After a few seconds of uneasy silence, Malfoy gulps and says, "We did things, you know?" He narrows his eyes watching my reaction. "Things you don't just come back from unscathed."

…

Their new camp was smaller and the trees around it were more dense. Neville was right, the creek running through the forest by the clearing was quite convenient. They took turns drinking the water bubbling against the rocks and filling up their bowls. They were careful with the water, consistently aware that it may be the next thing to go. Plenty could be done to impede a supply of fresh water. Honestly, they were quite surprised they still had one.

Harry washed Ginny's face and neck and, truthfully, she looked cleaner than any of them with all the extensive care that she was receiving. Cho sat near them and watched as Harry dabbed a wet cloth over Ginny's chest, underneath the collar of her shirt. Ron and Neville began building shelters on the outskirts of the clearing while Luna collected stones to contain the fire they would be building. Nott took inventory: they'd brought the spears – the ones George had had the forethought to make – Oliver Wood's broom (just in case); an axe that Malfoy had transfigured early on; the bowls that were now lined up by Harry, full of water; several satchels with the last of their berries (these were becoming increasingly scarce given the onset of an early winter), and the remainder of the bubotubers; a pile of wands – a heap of indiscernible sticks, really – several pairs – or rather not pairs – of shoes that they'd found abandoned after the attack; and Neville's cooking pot. Nott took the liberty of filling the pot from the spring. He filled it right to the top. Then, he, Malfoy, and Hermione set out to gather firewood and brush for the huts.

Nott began to pile the logs in a heap near the clearing, venturing farther and farther out to find suitable materials. The area was crowded with silver birch which, as they'd previously learned, didn't burn for very long, so they would need to collect more of it to last the evening.

"We should try to talk to her," Hermione said. "I'm sure she's got a story."

"She's been mute," Malfoy said. "Won't even speak to Harry."

"What the hell happened to her?" Hermione said quietly, mostly to herself.

Nott came up behind her and just stood there with a pile of soggy wood in his arms. He was silent for a while, watching Cho and Harry interact in the middle of the clearing. Finally, he sighed, "This birch is wetter than your mother's cunt, Draco."

Hermione's eyes widened as she turned to look at Nott.

Malfoy, who'd been gathering needled branches for the shelters, sighed. "Fuck," he said. Nott's profanity didn't seem to phase him in the slightest.

Hermione looked down at Malfoy. "Aren't you going to defend you mother's honour?"

"My mother's honour?" Malfoy let out a laugh. "Now there's an oxymoron for you."

"Sorry, Granger," Nott said impassively, "forgot you were here."

"And if I weren't, it would make it ok?" she rounded on him.

At her outrage, Nott sucked in his cheeks and grinned. Blinking down at her through a thicket of dark lashes, his face, as a whole, remained relatively unmoved, save for the subtle smile on his lips.

"It's disrespectful," Hermione said indignantly.

"The more pressing matter is that, if we can't make a fire tonight, we'll be very fucking cold," Nott said.

Malfoy stood up from his crouched position and straightened his back with a groan. "We'll have to huddle," he said, smirking at Hermione.

Hermione glared at him, her face flushing despite the wintry air. A distressing exhilaration suddenly gripped her at the sight of his suggestive expression. It almost dizzied her – knowing that they shared a secret. That they had an inside joke.

Nott glanced between them with slightly narrowed eyes. When Malfoy went back to camp to deliver an armful of branches, Nott turned to her, saying, "You could do worse."

She slowly lifted her gaze to look at him. "I'm not _doing_ anything."

Nott watched her calmly. "Yet."

"You're irritating me, Nott."

Nott began to chuckle. He dropped the logs he was holding and placed a palm over his face. He looked at her through the spaces between his fingers. "I'm quite glad you're with us, Granger," he said.

"That makes one of us."

Nott dropped his head, his shoulders shaking. Hermione bit her lip, smiling at his reaction. When he looked back up at her, she was laughing too.

…

"Marian."

"Marian," he says quietly. "It's a pleasure, Marian."

I smile.

His dark eyes rest on mine and I wonder who will look away first. When neither of us do, I begin to feel like I need to gasp for air as my breathing quickens. He narrows his gaze. "Who do you remind me of, Marian?"

…

Hermione was painstakingly drying one log at a time with a hot air charm. Nott was assembling the firewood in the pit, cursing occasionally at its damp state. Malfoy, was piling dirt and dried leaves over the two huts Neville was building with Ron. Cho was sitting with Ginny, her hands over her neck. Luna and Harry were on their way out of the clearing in search of food. Hermione was –

Hermione doubled back and stared at Cho who was kneeling over Ginny, her fingers wrapping around Ginny's neck – she was _choking_ her!

Hermione sprang up, screaming and running for Cho. The others in the camp looked in her direction. Nott was next to jump up. He was closer to Cho so he got to her first, prying her off of a lifeless Ginny.

"What the fuck? What the _fuck?_ " Hermione screamed as Malfoy arrived. He grabbed Hermione by the shoulders and practically threw her out of the way, landing with a skid at Ginny's side. He grabbed her wrist, feeling for a pulse. He dropped it in frustration and stuck a couple of fingers against the groove on the side of Ginny's neck, along her carotid.

By this time, Ron and Harry were on scene. Harry dropped to his knees at Ginny's side, yelping, "What happened? What the fuck happened?"

"Malfoy!" roared Nott, struggling against a shrieking Cho who was beating against his grasp. "Malfoy, let me look at her!"

Malfoy leapt up and grabbed Cho at a run. Nott shrugged her off and slid in beside Harry, taking Ginny's face in his hands. "No, no," he whispered. "Don't give up on me, Red." He placed his hands on her sternum, beginning to compress her chest rhythmically. "C'mon, Ginny. Come _on_."

"Is she breathing?" Ron sobbed. Between the frigid cold and the tears, he was a snivelling mess.

"I need my wand!" Nott yelled, continuing to push into Ginny's ribcage.

"The fuck are you going to do with it?" Harry screamed, but he was already up and running to look for it.

"Use mine!" Hermione jumped in.

Nott shook his head. "I can't take that chance." He looked up at her. "You're going to have to do it."

"Wha –" she gulped. "What am I doing?"

"You need to give her a counter-shock."

" _What?_ "

"You need to shock her," Nott said steadily. "In her heart. _Now_. Ron, come around to the other side."

"I can't," Hermione cried. She shook her head, the tears pouring down her face.

Nott, continuing to press against Ginny's breastbone with his palm, watched her evenly, "Hermione, you _have_ to. Either you do this, or she dies right now."

"Let me!" Ron pushed his way in, holding his wand out to Ginny's heart.

"No!" Nott yelled, throwing a firm grasp over Ron's wand hand. His eyes shot up toward Hermione and they looked almost pleading. "We need two. To create the current."

Behind them, Cho had scraped herself out of Malfoy's grasp and he, Neville, and Luna were chasing her around the clearing. Cho was throwing hexes in their direction as she ran.

"Hermione," Nott's level voice cut through their screams, "look at me, Hermione."

She looked up at him. His dark eyes were reassuring but she shook her head. "I don't have any magic left."

"You can do this, Hermione," he said. "If anyone can do this, it's you."

Hermione nodded, taking some deep breaths to steady herself.

"The current has to go through her heart," Nott spoke quickly and clearly as he tore away the front of Ginny's shirt. "Ron, administer yours here, on the right side." His voice was simultaneously resolute and calm. "Hermione, you're there." He placed an index finger to the lower left of Ginny's ribcage.

"What happens if one of us can't get a charge?" Hermione said.

Nott looked up at her, lifting his hands off of Ginny's chest. "Make sure you get a charge."

Hermione breathed out through her mouth and, pointing her wand at Ginny's chest, she blinked up at Ron. " _Electrica Eructo_ ," she muttered. A dim orange light ignited at the tip of her wand, burning out in a blue spark.

Nott was watching Ginny. "Again," he said.

"What?" she stared at him.

" _Again_ , Hermione!"

" _Electrica Eructo _." Ron was louder this time. The flash that erupted from his wand flared for a fraction longer than last time, Ginny's body jolting in response.__

____

"Her skin is burning," Hermione cried, seeing the redness appear beneath the tip of her wand, gagging as the smell of it reached her nostrils.

____

"Again!"

____

"How many times, Nott?" Hermione sobbed.

____

"As many as it takes. _Again!_ "

____

" _Electrica Eructo_."

____

"I can't lose you, Ginny!" Ron sobbed. "Not you, too."

____

Ginny began to stir.

____

"Oh my god," Hermione whispered. "Is she awake?"

____

Ginny wheezed.

____

"Ginny?" Harry cried. He ran back over to them, carrying the handful of wands he'd located at the edge of the clearing.

____

Nott sank backward, his hands hitting the ground behind him, gasping.

____

"Ginny?" Ron wailed. "Ginny!"

____

Ginny opened her eyes.

____

Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth, shuffling out of the way just as Harry nearly tripped over her. She looked up at Nott, who had risen and backed away. He was half-smiling at her with a dazed sort of expression. Hermione began to sob again. She sprang up and ran for him, throwing her arms around his neck.

____

Nott remained unresponsive for a moment, as if her reaction had caught him off guard.

____

After a few seconds, she felt his arms close around her back, his head bow down into her shoulder. He spoke into her neck, "You did it."

____

She wept against his chest. "Thank you," she shook her head. "Thank you, thank you."

____

He continued to rest his head in the curve between her neck and her shoulder, his breath hot against her skin.

____

"How did you know what to do?" she whispered. "How do you always know what to do?"

____

He let out a low chuckle. She felt him smile into her neck. "Mum's a doctor."

____

"A healer, you mean?"

____

Nott shook his head.

____

"Your mother is a muggle?" She released him and stepped back slightly, glancing up at him as he lifted his head to look at her.

____

"I didn't say that."

____

Hermione furrowed her brows. "Your mother's a witch but she practices muggle medicine?"

____

Nott gave her a cordial smile. "She's quite fond of muggle research methods. Says they're leagues ahead of magical healers in that respect."

____

Hermione's arms were still on his shoulders, her fingers entwined behind his neck. His hands had slid down her back and were sitting on her waist. She didn't know why she did it, but she grazed her fingers through the hair on the back of his head, feeding them through the soft waves of it. He began to pull her. Pull her at the waist as he walked backward – backward into the thickness of the woods behind him.

____

His gaze was absorbed in her, as if there was nothing else going on around them. As if Malfoy hadn't just tackled Cho to the ground behind them while Neville and Luna flanked her on both sides. As if Ginny hadn't just been revived. He watched her carefully, trying to interpret her intentions. She moved with him still, no signs of stopping. So, he stepped quicker – glided – his hands sliding up, moving swiftly like their rushing velocity.

____

As soon as they were past the treeline, as soon as they felt the branches scratching against their skin, he drew her in. His hands came up so fast she barely felt them move. His lips were locked on hers before she could take a full breath, as if he needed to kiss her before he could reconsider. He kissed her with an impatience that was intoxicating. The way he leaned into her was moving – unrestrained. He curved over her, consumed her, enveloped her in an overwhelmed, turbulent embrace.

____

She felt his lips drape over her like a physical manifestation of bliss. His fingers swathed her cheeks, her mouth, neck, in paroxysms of exhilaration. She kissed him back, of course. She kissed with the urgency that she felt, flattened herself against him, feeling his warmth seep through her despite the bitter wind that whipped around them. They stumbled over the roots that wound through the earth, they crashed into trees that had the audacity to stand in their furious path, they broke through brittle branches as they flew farther into the forest.

____

His hands hovered over her face, slipping along her jaw and into her hair. They snuck along the back of her neck, trailed across the dips of her shoulders, slid along her collarbone, as he breathed into her a hot, uneven breath. As his lips crept along her cheek, as his tongued swanned its way to her ear.

____

"Hermione," he breathed, "when I said you could do worse –"

____

"You meant yourself?" Hermione smiled into his neck as his teeth skimmed her earlobe.

____

He chuckled quietly, "I was going to say, it wasn't my place."

____

Hermione detached herself slightly, and he lowered his head to keep her mouth close to his. "And now?" She lifted her eyes to look at him along the bridge of her nose.

____

He watched her, slid his thumb across her cheekbone, drifted it over her lips. He sighed, stepping closer – as if that were possible – and she felt his body come up against hers, felt his hips brush hers, his chest support her own. "Now," he said, a smile curling his lips, "he can't have you."

____

She had but a moment longer to breathe him in. Then –

____

" _Ron!_ " It was Harry who was screaming.

____

Hermione whipped her head around, squinting through the perpetual darkness.

____

She ran. She let go of Nott so fast, it was like he was never there. But she could hear his footsteps gaining behind her. They broke through the brush into the clearing and froze. Cho had Malfoy in a headlock with a wand pointed to his temple. Ron was slowly stepping toward them with his wand held out. Harry, who was supporting Ginny's head on the ground, was bellowing for Ron to retreat.

____

"Fuck," Nott swore into the night. "Where the fuck is my wand?"

____

"Let him go!" Ron yelled.

____

But Cho's eyes were wild. She wasn't going to be listening to Ron. She wasn't going to be listening to anybody.

____

"Ron!" Hermione yelled, "Get back!"

____

Ron turned his head toward her and his expression was stunned. He gestured toward Cho, "She's got Malfoy!"

____

"I can see that, Ron," Hermione cried. "Get back, Ron! Please get back!"

____

Nott had come up by her side and extended a hand before her, the firm stretch of his forearm blocking her from moving forward. He nodded at Ron.

____

"No!" Hermione screamed as she looked between Nott and Ron – as Ron raised his wand. "Ron, no!" She began to struggle against Nott's arm.

____

Cho's gaze trailed back and forth between Ron and Hermione until she finally pointed her wand at Ron.

____

Nott swivelled around and, just as she began to run toward Ron, plucked Hermione right off the ground, plunging her backwards into the thicket of foliage at the edge of the clearing.

____

Just as Ron muttered the first syllable of his stunning spell and Cho released her grip on Malfoy to lift her wand higher, Nott spun back around, gunning for Cho. And as the voiceless curse lit up the tip of Cho's wand, Malfoy, who'd been thrown aside, lunged at her ankles, destabilizing her, while Nott rammed into her, bringing the three of them down in a heap as the jet of her spell soared high over the canopy of trees.

____

Ron looked up, watching the red stream shoot far above his head, and then gaped at the mound of their bodies on the ground. "Wicked," he said, a beam spreading on his face.

____


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that it's taken me so long to update! Thank you to all of you who are following this story! It means so much to me that you take the time to read it and share your views and opinions. Your wonderful comments make my day!

Someone had placed a full body-bind curse on Cho. Someone had set her down by the pile of firewood. Someone had lit a fire. They did this wordlessly. Sitting near the warmth of the pit. Spearing a rabbit. Cooking. Eating.

“I’m still hungry,” Luna said, licking her fingers after she took the last bite of her rabbit meat, and then popping a cranberry into her mouth and instantly grimacing at its sour taste.

Malfoy looked at her pointedly.

Hermione sighed. “I know what you mean, Luna. I could go for days eating berries and weeds. But as soon as we have a semi-substantial meal, I feel like I could eat a horse.”

Malfoy glanced over at her and then blinked toward the stunned body of Cho.

Nott cleared his throat. “The protein from the rabbit will keep us going for a while.”

“It was a fat one,” Neville said, munching down joyously on his chunk of meat. “Theo and I are getting better at hunting. We almost got a deer today.”

“Almost doesn’t count,” Ron grumbled.

“Don’t see you chasing dinner, Weasley,” Malfoy shot back.

“That’s because I’ve been building a fucking roof over your head, you wanker!” Ron rounded on Malfoy.

“Took you all goddamn day to pile a bunch of branches over some sticks?” Malfoy growled.

“Give it a rest,” Hermione sighed.

Malfoy turned to her. “Which one of us?”

Hermione gave him a stony glance but didn’t say anything else.

Neville rubbed his hands along his trousers, wiping rabbit juice from his fingers. He sighed and stared grimly into the fire. “What are we going to do about Cho?”

“What gets me,” Ron said, sucking on his thumb to get the last bit of grease from under his nail, “is that she just snapped. One minute she was fine and the next – she went totally bonkers.”

“Mm-hmm,” Hermione nodded, gazing blankly into the fire. “Peculiar. Like a sleeper agent.”

“What’s a sleeper agent?” Luna’s dreamy voice carried over the flames of the fire.

“It’s a spy,” Hermione said. “A spy who assimilates with a group until he or she is activated to carry out a mission.”

“She’s not a sleeper agent,” Malfoy waved a dismissive hand. “She’s Imperiused. It’s obvious.”

Hermione turned to face him again, leaning forward to look around Ron who sat next to her on the log. “It doesn’t make sense. If she’d been Imperiused to kill us or – or even Ginny for that matter – she would have attempted it right away. As soon as she came upon us. She waited, Malfoy. Waited for opportunity.”

“She could have been instructed to wait,” Malfoy said.

“Malfoy, unless they’re literally watching us, they don’t know our situation. That Ginny’s injured. How many of us there are. Nothing. Imperius Curse instructions must be very specific. This is something else.”

“What else could it be?” Ron furrowed his eyebrows, glancing in her direction.

She shook her head. “I’ve no idea.”

“They’d know about Ginny,” Nott said quietly.

Neville nodded. “They have our people. Any one of them could have said something. Everybody knew she was in rough shape.”

Nott had his hand over the bottom half of his face. He rubbed his fingers through the stubble on his cheeks, vacantly scratching at it. He sighed, leaning his elbows on his knees and bringing his palms together in front of his mouth; he was thinking.

Ron kneaded his temple. “If we don’t know what’s wrong with her, then – how do we fight something we don’t know?”

Nott lifted his gaze toward Malfoy and shifted his jaw slightly. He let out a slow breath and looked away again. That was the extent of their interaction and yet Malfoy seemed to grasp exactly what he’d meant. Malfoy sucked in his lips into a tight smile, let out an abrasive sound that may have been a chuckle. “You seem to have read my mind, Nott,” he said savagely.

Hermione glanced at Nott reluctantly – she hadn’t looked at him all evening. Nott was back to staring at Malfoy.

Then, Malfoy stood abruptly. He walked around the log they were sitting on toward Cho’s stupefied body and pulled out his wand.

“What are you doing?” Hermione jumped up, putting herself between Malfoy and the pile of firewood – between Malfoy and Cho.

Malfoy gave her a hostile look. “Taking first watch,” he said gruffly.

Hermione eyed him suspiciously before stepping aside.

“It’s about time for desert,” Luna said, producing a handful of crumpled flower petals from a pocket in her corduroy pants.

“Is that a moonflower?” Ron craned his neck to inspect the contents in her hand.

“Luna, why do you always have drugs?” Malfoy blinked at her in amusement.

Luna shrugged. “Oh, you know,” she said, “I just keep them in my back pocket.”

Malfoy began to chuckle, remembering his words to her the first time she offered him psychotropics.

“Moonflower?” Neville said skeptically.

“Jimsonweed,” Luna said.

“Thorn apple,” Nott chimed in.

“Devil’s trumpet,” Malfoy added.

“It’s a species in the nightshade family, actually,” Hermione said. “Datura stramonium.”

Nott smirked while Malfoy turned to her, saying, “Why, thank you, professor.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him and added, “Colloquially known as hell’s bells.”

“Colloquially known as a good time,” Luna smiled broadly.

“Who _are_ you?” Malfoy gaped back at Luna.

“Are you in or are you in?” Luna winked at him.

“Tempting,” he said. “But I’ve got first watch. This one, on the other hand,” he grasped Hermione’s arm and brought her forward, “she’s definitely in.”

“I am most certainly _not_ in!” Hermione exclaimed, wriggling out of his grasp.

“I’m in!” Ron got up from his log. “Neville?”

Neville grimaced. “I think I’ll check on Harry and Ginny. See how they’re doing in there.” He eyed the darkness at the edge of the clearing where the huts dissolved into the forest.

“They’re fine, Longbottom,” Malfoy said. “Let them get reacquainted.” Seeing Hermione flinch at his words, Malfoy added, “I’m sure Ginny’s sleeping, anyway.”

Neville hesitated but Ron held out his arm down to him. “C’mon, Neville,” he said.

Neville appeared reluctant but grasped Ron’s forearm, nonetheless.

“Weasley,” Malfoy called, as they started for the forest. Ron turned his head to look at him. Malfoy’s face contorted slightly. “Thank you, Weasley,” he said.

Hermione stared up at Malfoy.

“For what?” Ron said, looking just as taken aback as Hermione felt.

Malfoy glared at him, apparently not pleased at having to elaborate. “You saved my life, Weasley. With Cho.” Then he pushed some hair out of his face and looked away, “Probably, anyway.”

Ron watched him evenly, his gaze shifting toward Hermione, who shrugged at him, and back to Malfoy again. “Don’t mention it,” he said finally.

…

Around here is where the story gets fuzzy. I think about it considerably, I have to admit. Trying to piece together everyone’s accounts. Everyone’s emotions. Everyone’s motives. I go back and forth, deciding who is telling the most truth. The trouble is, it could be nobody.

I must look distraught, sitting there at our regular table, my summer skirt flowing in the breeze, massaging my head, methodically digging my thumb into the pain radiating from my temple. I lean into it with a couple of knuckles, trying to alleviate the migraine, pressing my hand into the inside of my brow bone. I haven’t slept, you see.

“Something on your mind, little lady?” he says, sliding into the chair across from me. He scans my face with a concerned expression.

I don’t deserve his compassion. I sigh. “Just a headache.”

He leans back in his seat and continues to examine me from across the table. “You get them often?” he says.

I stifle a laugh. “I don't need a check-up, Dr. Nott. I’m fine.”

His eyebrows are still knotted when he takes a pack of cigarettes out of the inside pocket of his leather jacket. “You are aware that heads are my specialty,” he says around the cigarette, squinting at me over the lighter that he brings to its tip.

I give him a tight smile. “Yes,” I say, “I am aware.” I _am_ aware. I am more aware than he knows.

…

Nott rose from his log after the others took off into the forest. “Can I talk to you?” Hermione heard him say in a low voice behind her. His fingers brushed the back of her arm, just below her elbow.

She didn’t turn to him right away, her eyes still locked on Malfoy’s face as he lifted his gaze to look behind her at Nott. Malfoy raised his eyebrows, his eyes sliding from Nott’s face to Hermione’s. He watched her for another few moments before walking past her toward Cho.

When she didn’t respond, Nott walked around to face her, his hand still on her arm.

“Not now, Theo,” she said.

She began to walk away toward the shelters.

“Did she just –” Malfoy began, turning to face Nott with a curious expression. “Did she just call you Theo?”

Nott shrugged. “It’s about time we were on a first name basis.”

Malfoy grimaced. “Please don’t elaborate.”

Nott shoved his hands into his pockets and grinned at Malfoy uneasily. “You don’t mind, then?”

“Mind what?” Malfoy said, suddenly busying himself with restacking the firewood. “You and Granger getting friendly? Why would I mind?”

Nott sighed, digging his hands deeper into his pockets. “You’re a dreadful liar, Draco.”

“Listen,” Malfoy straightened his back and turned toward him, his eyes finally landing on Nott’s face. “I couldn’t care less who you shack up with, much less who Granger is fucking.”

“We’re not fucking,” Nott said placidly.

Malfoy studied his face for a few moments. “Well,” he said quietly, “what are you waiting for?”

“You seem upset,” Nott said.

Malfoy began to chuckle. “I mean, don’t expect me to be cordial with her now that she’s your side piece.”

Nott cracked a half smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it, brother.”

…

The clouds above the patio are gathering, the hot air thickens, the day darkens.

“Looks like rain,” he says.

“That would explain the headache.”

He pushes the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray sitting beside him on the table. “We better relocate.”

I look up at him in surprise. I’ve never been anywhere with Theodore Nott other than the Grey Goat Bar and Grill patio. That was the arrangement. Let it be known that I am not the one who disrupted this arrangement. “We better,” I agree, quickly – before he has a chance to reconsider.

…

And there it was. The first snow. She saw it flutter downward outside the hut as she laid herself down on the brush, as she began to spread a layer of fern over her legs. Suddenly she smelt its freshness, felt its sting in her nostrils. The ground was cold enough, she thought, that it would certainly start to settle. She loved the snow, normally. But not now, not here.

“I think you’ve got a point,” Nott said, peeking his head into the shelter where Hermione was settling in for the night.

She lifted her head from the brush when she heard his voice. “Theo, I’m trying to sleep.”

Nott was already stepping inside. “May I?”

Hermione sighed loudly and lifted herself up into a sitting position. “Why bother asking?” she said in exasperation.

“I think it’s something else,” he said. “Cho, that is. She’s not Imperiused.”

Hermione frowned. “What's wrong with her, then?”

He shook his head. “Don’t know.”

Hermione blinked at him in the darkness. “What a useful piece of information you’ve imparted. So glad you stopped by.”

“Hermione –”

“Don’t.”

“Hermione, I know you’re upset.”

“Upset?” Hermione’s voice grew louder.

Nott glanced behind his back at the opening behind him and put a finger over his mouth, signifying for her to speak quieter.

She lowered her voice and continued in a hiss. “Upset doesn’t begin to cover it.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered back. “I don’t know what came over me. But we need to clear the air.”

“Alright then, let’s clear it,” Hermione leaned forward in anger. “How _could_ you?”

Nott had nothing to say.

“How could you do that?”

Nott sat in silence for another few seconds before retaliating. “I’ll admit that I’m at fault, here, Granger, but let’s not pretend you’re innocent in this.”

“What are you talking about?” she whispered feverishly, shuffling herself closer to him. “What did I do?”

Nott recoiled slightly as she moved toward him and nearly toppled backward before catching himself with his hand on the floor. “ _You_ kissed _me_ back,” he said.

“ _What?_ ” she said, taken aback. “I’m not talking about that!”

Nott’s face moved upward in the darkness. “What are you talking about, then?”

“You _pushed_ me! Away from the fight!”

“I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Hermione glared at him. “I had a _wand_.”

“So did Cho.”

“You _didn’t_.”

Nott sucked in a long breath. “I wasn’t thinking, Hermione. It just happened. I didn’t mean to offend you.” He was looking at her with an earnest expression. “Obviously, I know you can take care of yourself.”

“Theo,” she said quietly, “I was trying to protect my friend.”

Nott reached out with his hand to lay it on top of hers. “So was I,” he said.

…

We settle our bill just as the first of the rain comes. It’ll be one of those torrential downpours – I can tell by how quickly it escalates. He grabs my hand as we’re making our way out, just as the rain begins to beat harder.

We’re running down the street, soaking, of course, and cackling at our failure to evade the storm. Somewhere in the distance, lightning illuminates the murky skyline, thunder rolls, as if erupting from underfoot. And he pulls me aside – into a slender alley between buildings – as we nearly trip on the cobblestones, our quick steps sending splashes outward, water seeping through our shoes. He slips me under a narrow roof, onto a patch of dry land. It’s only big enough for one of us. He stands there, under the rain, looking at me and laughing, as the water pours over his face.

I can’t. I close my eyes. I can’t. I can’t. But then, my train of thought evolves. It’s not _I can’t_. _It can’t. It can’t be._ It can’t be.

…

Hermione lifted her hand to grasp his. He moved closer. She felt his fingers brushing her shoulder as they slid up behind her neck and into the knot in her hair. His hand was firm on the back of her head, pulling her in.

“Theo,” she breathed into his face, “is this wise?”

He smiled against her mouth, “The wisest.”

It was his teeth that she felt first. They grazed over the inside of her bottom lip before his lips took over resolutely. His hand slipped, faltered, stilled, moved to the front of her neck. There, it lingered for a while, his thumb gliding up and down, as if staying itself from travelling elsewhere.

…

When I open my eyes again, I’ve already made a decision. It seems that he has too. He’s standing closer. Almost close enough to be in my rainless patch. He’s still smiling crookedly as his face nears mine, like he’s amused by something he’d rather not share.

His lifts his arm to place his palm on the brick wall behind my head. “You’re drenched.” Old cigarette smoke flavours his breath, floats with his words. I can smell its stale essence on his skin. It dizzies me.

“Yeah,” I breathe, hoarse and jittery, catching the water trickling over my mouth with my bottom lip. “I’m so fucking wet.”

He chuckles over my face.

I blink up at him and gasp, my face flushing so terribly that it is undoubtedly emanating heat. I clear my throat. “My – my clothes,” I say, grasping a handful of my soaking shirt. I wring the material to show him just how wet it is – the water from it drips onto his shoe.

He comes closer. “I know what you meant,” he says softly somewhere above my face. His breath washes over my forehead, flutters some loose hairs on my head.

I know that I won’t hurt him. I won’t hurt him like _she_ did. But that’s not what this is about.

…

She shifted closer, allowing his other hand to take her waist, bring her in. They rose to their knees, kissing. “Hermione,” he whispered, “how cold are you?”

“What?” she said. “I’m pretty cold.”

Nott chuckled into her mouth. “So, you would be opposed to me undressing you?”

At this, she jerked backward, staring at him in bewilderment.

Nott held up his hands nervously. “It was a joke. Sort of.”

Hermione tried to compose herself before speaking. “You – you don’t understand, Nott.”

“Nott?” he blinked at her. “I’m Nott again?”

“Theo,” she shut her eyes and shook her head. “I’m not ready.”

He sighed and rubbed at his forehead. “It’s not the cold, is it?”

When Hermione opened her eyes again, Nott seemed to have moved closer. She shook her head. “It’s too fast.”

He nodded. “Okay.” He didn’t say anything else for a while. Then, “we can still kiss, right?”

She put a hand to his chest when he leaned in. “What’s going on, Theo? Are we just fooling ourselves? Are we bored?”

“Bored?” Nott laughed at this. “Starving, hiding, freezing, basically just fighting to stay alive, Hermione. Only you would be bored doing that.”

She laughed. Then, more seriously, she said, “I mean it, Theo. What are we doing?”

Nott shrugged. “Passing time?”

She scoffed, pushing him away as he laughed. “Be serious!”

“What do you want me to say, Hermione?” he said. “That I’ve fallen madly in love with you? That you’re all I can think about? That I’ve got tunnel vision that starts and ends with your face?”

She stared at him.

He smirked. “Because, I’ll get back to you.”

She grimaced and shoved him backward. “You ass.”

…

“Are you cold?” he asks.

I shake my head mutely. The truth is, I’m really hot. I’m thankful for the rain because otherwise I’d be sweating right through my top. I feel his lips brush over my forehead. I bring my hands up in fists to place them between us against his chest: a physical barrier. I feel the cold water from his shirt trickle down my wrists as they connect.

He shrugs off his jacket and lifts it over our heads. And then he kisses me, under the warmth and earthy scent of the leather.

My fingers spread across his chest. Feel the buttons on his dress shirt. Find the spaces in between where they could chance a touch of his skin underneath.

He brings his hands, which are still holding the collar of his jacket above us, down to my shoulders. The jacket slides around the back of my head and he rests it there, bringing his hands up to explore my face. His fingers roam through the hollows of my cheeks, trail the angle of my jawline, the dip of my neck.

He slides his hands over my arms, all the way to my hands, grasping them in his. He leans his head against mine and says, “You know what’s a great cure for migraines?”

I can feel him smiling against my temple. I realize that I’d forgotten about it but, now that he’s mentioned it, just his breath there makes my head pound excruciatingly. The exhilaration of having his body against mine is not helping. “What?” I say, cringing through the pain.

“I’ll give you a hint.” His hand slips down my waist, below my waist, his fingers sweep across the elastic of my skirt, slide lower, and – very slowly – begin to lift the chiffon.

I stop him, of course. I don’t think he would’ve gone through with it, anyway. Besides, he was probably seconds away from whispering _‘Hermione’_ in my ear. I know that he’s still hung up on her. _In love_. Let’s not beat around the bush. He’s still _in love_ with her. Can you be in love with someone who no longer exists?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't possibly relay to you all how absolutely wonderful it is to read all of your comments and messages! Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> A huge thank you to LauraArmada for creating this amazing graphic for my story as a gift!

Hermione stirred. She opened her eyes. She would have stretched if she weren't this cold. Instead, she pulled her knees in tighter to her chest, tucked her arms in also, waited. Waited for what? For the day to be over. The week. The year. For this life to be –

Laughter. It was strange – alien. A sound she hadn't heard in so long that a mere trace of it made her uneasy. And this was no mere trace. It was a chorus. There was harmony, a solo. Then again, a choir. Laughter. What was that about?

She lifted herself up onto her elbows, kicking the brush off herself with her legs. At least her feet were warm – she'd slept in boots. But aching. Her feet were aching to stretch, arch, flex, and point. She rolled her ankles around trying to relieve the discomfort.

She shivered, glad at least to have a jacket. Some of them were not so fortunate. She squinted at the brightness outside of the shelter. Light was all she could see. She massaged her throat as she made her way to exit the shelter; the crisp air had left it raw. She swallowed though the pain.

She stepped out into the sunlight. She stepped out into the snow. It compressed under her foot – soft, pure, virgin. It sparkled across the clearing. In the sunlight it looked whiter than white. It was blinding. It hurt her eyes. What a beautiful adversary it was. Resplendent and ruthless.

It was a scene, alright. Luna jumping in delight as Neville and Ron took turns conjuring a fountain of wine while the other, his mouth gaping open, would drop his head to catch it in his mouth. Their faces and clothes were burgundy stained.

Hermione headed for Nott and Malfoy, who sat on a log watching the action from the sidelines. They were chuckling in amusement. As she neared them, she said, gesturing to the others, "Why didn't we think of this before?"

Malfoy looked up at her first, a strange smile on his face that contrasted the narrowing of his eyes. "Apparently getting high rejuvenates the magical spirit. Look at them conjuring away," he said.

"We should ask them for some blankets," Hermione said, suspiciously eyeing the jovial forms galloping across the clearing.

"I dare you to try," Malfoy sneered.

"They think they're in a vineyard," Nott said. "Wine tasting."

Hermione grimaced. "Of course, they do."

"They thought I was a vine," Malfoy added. "Damn near plucked my grapes."

Hermione let out a snort.

"She laughs," Malfoy said, squinting up at her, a smirk still subtly weaved into his mouth.

The observation made her self-conscious. She composed herself. Cleared her throat. "How's Cho?" she said.

Cho was still laying by the fire, her stunned body draped with someone's jacket. Malfoy shrugged and she noticed that he wasn't wearing his. "Had to stun her again during the night. She was beginning to stir."

Nott held his hand out to Hermione. "Join us." He patted the space beside him on the log.

The look that Malfoy gave her as she went to sit between them was heavy, scrutinizing, long. He shifted sideways when she sat, away from her. It was subtle, but she noticed. She sat very still and straight, rigid, uncomfortable.

Malfoy leaned back slightly, placed his hands on the back of the log. His black shirt rippled in the breeze against his chest. Hermione saw it out of the corner of her eye. The tilt, the shirt, the way he pointedly looked away.

But she felt sorry for him too. Not just for herself and the others. Malfoy was in this with them. They were all suffering. She moved slightly, allowing her open jacket to catch his arm, share her warmth. It was an innocent enough gesture – besides, she did it fairly unconsciously. But he must have shuddered because she felt her jacket flutter at the side. Unless she imagined it.

"Did any of you sleep?" she said.

"I don't think I've slept since we got here," Nott said. He placed his hand on Hermione's knee. His fingers were a light touch, moving softly, one at a time, until his whole palm lay flat on her leg. The warmth of his hand penetrated even the thickness of her jeans.

The warmth was stolen though, replaced by an icy thing. A hand – cold, slight but crippling – slipped underneath the hem of her jacket. It lingered at the small of her back, wound a finger in small circles there, before slithering around. Only the fingertips dared weigh on her waist. The chill, it seeped through the fabric of her shirt.

Hermione almost closed her eyes. Almost craved to sit there and – sit there and enjoy it. Her heart was beating so fast it was making her hot. "We can't just leave her stunned forever," she gulped. She would talk about Cho.

"Have you got a better suggestion?" Malfoy said, his fingers now pacing up the side of her ribcage.

It was a struggle to disengage, but Hermione leapt up off the log, aiming a livid glare at Malfoy. "Can I borrow you for a moment?"

He was still watching her with that contemplative gaze, as if he were appraising her request. His mouth was already curved into an uneven smirk. "Certainly," he said, rising.

Nott, who was looking at Hermione levelly, shifted his gaze to Malfoy. "I'll keep an eye on things," he said, nodding at the prancing forms in the clearing.

Hermione grabbed a clump of shirt on Malfoy's arm and dragged him to the outskirts of the clearing. "We should move soon," Malfoy was saying as they walked. "Shouldn't be staying in one place for too long. We'll need to scout a new location in a few days."

When they reached the woods, Hermione nearly impaled him on a branch of a birch when she shoved him through the trees.

"Watch, it, Granger!" he complained.

"What is your deal, Malfoy?" she hissed.

"Come again?" he said, feigning ignorance.

"Are we going to have a problem?" she said dangerously.

"Granger, you're going to have to be more specific."

"Are you going to pretend that you didn't just grope me _right_ _next_ to my boyfriend?"

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "Boyfriend?" he said.

Hermione sighed in frustration. "Whatever he is."

Malfoy neared her. "How would I know he's anything? It's not like you told me."

"Why would I tell you anything? I wasn't expecting you on feeling me up this morning."

Malfoy watched her skeptically. "I thought you were _in love_ with Harry Potter."

Hermione swallowed and looked away. She winced at the sting in her throat. "Yes, well, that doesn't matter, does it?"

"So, you're just going to give up?"

Hermione looked back up at him irritably. "What do you care, Malfoy?"

Malfoy scoffed. "I don't care."

"Then explain yourself."

He tightened his lips. "Just having a laugh, Granger. Ease up, will you?"

She bristled at his offhand remark. Put a firm hand across his chest when he went to leave. "I will _not_ ease up," she said when his eyes flitted back up in surprise. "And _you_ will stand here and apologize."

"Get stuffed, Granger. It's freezing out here."

She remembered feeling sorry for him. Watching him shiver in his billowing shirt. His lips were turning a dull blue while he gritted his teeth to keep them from chattering. She endeavoured to expel whatever part of her that still wished to share a jacket with him and shook her head resolutely. "Promise me that it won't happen again."

Malfoy stopped pushing against her palm and brought his own hand up to clasp around hers. "Get over yourself, Granger."

She dropped her hand from his chest, but he held onto it for a moment. He ran his thumb through her palm, across her wrist, before letting her hand fall. As he moved past her, she could feel an escalating thrill seize her chest. It was his unpredictability that was exhilarating, she reasoned. If nothing else, at least Malfoy was interesting. She listened to him tread through the snow, snap branches, crunch over sodden leaves, until the footsteps stopped. She turned to look at him.

He stood there and watched her, the greys of his eyes mimicking a darkening sky on a stormy day. Equally menacing and magnificent. And pointedly trained on her. The flutter rippling through her intensified. He began to walk forward, toward her again. It was a flurry of panic and anticipation that rattled inside her, she felt it prickling about her skin, sparking. She felt as though she might ignite, like a piece of kindling. Faster, combust like a defenceless, volatile wisp of cotton.

"Does my presence make you uncomfortable?" he said as he approached her.

She took a step back to compensate for the rapid loss of physical space between them. "Not at all," she said.

She felt his hand on her stomach before she realized he'd reached out to grab her shirt. He pulled her in toward him and, with his face just above hers, he said, "Does this?"

"Should it?" she breathed. His hand that clutched her shirt was the match. She imagined that the flames engulfed her. In an instant she was gone.

"Well," he smirked bitterly, "you're spoken for, aren't you?"

She stiffened, allowed herself to disconnect. She met his turbulent gaze with a fiery one of her own. "If your sole intention is to make me uncomfortable," she said, lifting his hand off her midriff, "how sad it is for you that you've got nothing better to do."

She gave him one last look of disdain and left him amid the trees, making her way back toward the clearing.

…

I want to help him. I wish I could. I do. I can tell him the truth. Would that be helpful, though? Would it be harmful? For twenty-two years, he's been operating under the assumption that – well, let's just say that he's been wrong.

Malfoy slides his fingers through his hair and leans over his drink, as if relishing in its contents. He sniffs, picks up the glass, lets out a quick breath, and downs the whiskey. He slams the tumbler back down on the counter, harder than the last one. His depth perception must be waning.

"He saved your life," I say. I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm already at the end, itching for the grand reveal.

Malfoy tightens his mouth. He's not looking at me, not really. Hasn't for days now. I think the process of dredging up old memories, it's not as therapeutic as some might say. Perhaps sometimes it's best to forget.

"It's not your fault," I say.

He nods. Purses his lips in a way that tells me that he doesn't necessarily agree with my sentiment.

"You had no choice," I say.

He lets out an abrasive chuckle. "There's always a choice."

…

The silence was what alerted them of the situation. No more laughter, no casual conversation. Not even the crunching of snow to signify movement. Besides the crackling of the fire, the camp was still. Their initial reaction was to freeze. They both froze at exactly the same time. Too late, though – they'd each been fuming over the preceding events to notice. And too close to the clearing. They would be spotted without question.

Behind her, Malfoy took a hold of her hand. Slowly, he stepped in front of her.

In the clearing stood Nott, wand in one hand, Malfoy's axe in the other. His arms were spread to protect the others behind him – Luna, Neville, and Ron, who seemed to have sobered up to properly recognize the dangerous state of affairs.

Standing before them was the perceived threat: Oliver Wood. He was at the opposite edge of the clearing, taking small steps toward them. His hands were up, no wand. His face looked pleading.

A shuffle that came from inside the nearby shelter startled them. They turned to see Harry climbing out. Malfoy held out his hand to still him. Harry halted, staring ahead at Wood.

"How did he find us?" Hermione whispered behind Malfoy.

"Does that really matter right now?" Malfoy muttered.

Hermione squeezed the hand that was holding her.

Oliver Wood took another step forward.

Nott held up his wand hand, stepping forward himself. He seemed to hesitate, deciding which instrument could do more damage. Would be a more prudent line of defence.

Hermione began to shuffle around for her wand. "I left my wand in the hut!" she exclaimed in a feverish whisper.

Malfoy dug into his back pocket to produce his own wand. "Stay here," he instructed.

As Malfoy began to walk forward, Harry motioned with his arm to Hermione. "Hermione, get in here!"

Hermione had no intention of barricading herself inside a shelter with no escape. She shook her head at him, and he sighed in frustration, clambering out of the hut clumsily in his haste.

"Hermione, watch Ginny," he said to her in a low voice, taking his wand out. "Please."

She stared at his figure as he stalked off after Malfoy. Protect Ginny, of course. She crept toward the shelter, keeping her eye on the figures in the clearing. Ironic that in a forest brimming with terrifying creatures, their most formidable foe was a friend. An ally.

…

I'm intently staring at the menu, I realize. The front of it, to be exact. Just the name is on the front of an otherwise black cover. _The Grey Goat_ , I read. Underneath, in a smaller, more uniform font, it says, _Bar & Grill_. I've never ordered any food here so I'm not sure why I've taken a menu today. I think it was offered and I didn't refuse. So, I'm just watching it now as a means to compose myself. To pacify my nerves.

I'll be seeing him today. For the first time since – well, since yesterday. And what will I say? I've deceived him. I'm no better than she was. I almost get up to leave, but then I see him, just as I'm about to rise from my seat.

He adjusts his leather jacket as he bounds up the steps – he wears a jacket, rain or shine. Removes his sunglasses as he approaches my table. Our table. Slips them into an inside pocket of his jacket. He's smirking at me already, before he's even sitting down. I do my utmost not to look away in shame. If only he knew.

"Marian," he says, lowering himself into the seat across from me.

I manage a smile. I am good at faking it.

"Are we eating today?" He points to my menu.

I've never seen him eat. Just smoke. "We can."

He flips the menu open while it still faces me. "Anything good?" he says.

Good is subjective. Or so I've been told. "Probably," I respond. Am I good?

Theodore Nott holds up a hand to signal a waiter. "Can I trouble you for another menu?"

…

Hermione peered out through the slits between the logs. Ginny lay behind her, her breathing laboured as she tried lifting her head to watch.

"What's happening?" she whispered feverishly.

"Oliver Wood is here," Hermione whispered back, without looking at Ginny.

They were moving in a circle, the four of them, holding their wands out like rapiers. Wood had drawn his when Malfoy and Harry approached.

Ginny groaned behind her. "Hermione," she said, trying to lift herself up to get a better look.

"Shh," Hermione said. "Don't move."

"Hermione, I need to tell you something," Ginny panted.

Hermione turned to look at her.

Ginny's face was pale, sweaty, drawn; her lips were grey. She looked as though she was fighting to keep her eyelids from closing over her eyes. She was wavering precariously on her elbows. Simply maintaining consciousness seemed to be a struggle.

"I've got news." It was Wood who spoke – outside, in the centre of the clearing.

Hermione turned her head back around to look outside. She saw Nott's wand hand falter. He wasn't expecting Wood to speak. After all, Cho had been silent. Perhaps Wood wasn't compromised. But how could they know for certain?

Malfoy spoke next: "Out with it, then."

"Ron," Wood was looking past Nott, Malfoy, and Harry. "Ron! Your brother – George – he's alive, Ron."

Hermione sensed the suspicion on Malfoy's face without seeing it. His back muscles tensed under his shirt. Hermione realized that her own fists were clenched, and she slowly released the pressure.

"Hermione," Ginny croaked behind her. "I need your help."

Hermione turned back and crawled toward Ginny. She tried covering her with some brush when Ginny's hand landed abruptly on her wrist. Hermione gasped and looked at her.

Ginny's eyes were glistening. "I have something to tell you, Hermione."

Hermione watched her evenly, but a sense of dread gripped her at the sight of Ginny's expression. "What's the matter, Ginny?"

Ginny gulped, relaxed her grip on Hermione, or, rather, her hand just fell away from exhaustion. "I know what happened to me, Hermione."

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. "You were hit with debris, Ginny," she said quietly, as one would soothe a child who's afraid of the monsters under the bed.

Ginny shook her head, shutting her eyes. Tears that had been pooling inside of them now streamed freely down into her ears. "There's more," she whispered.

Just then, Hermione heard a crack penetrate the air outside the hut. She jumped up and ran to the entrance. She didn't wait to see what was happening. She jumped out of the shelter and dove for the second one, just a few yards away, to grab her wand.

It only took her a few seconds but once she returned, the situation had altered again. Ron was screaming, rolling on the ground, clasping a hand to his shoulder. Neville was kneeling over him, inspecting his injuries. Another moment later and Nott had been disarmed. Wood moved swiftly across the clearing – moved toward Ginny's hut. Harry jumped in front of him, throwing out haphazard charms that Wood rapidly deflected. Finally, Wood hit Harry with a freezing spell, covering him entirely in a thick layer of ice. He toppled over on his side while Wood moved forward.

Wood seemed to be in good form – physically speaking. His wand work was crisp, precise. His stride was buoyant. He was by no means malnourished. Hermione jumped ahead of him, holding her wand out. She saw Malfoy in the background shaking out his own wand in frustration. Sparse sparks were fizzing from its tip. When he looked up at Wood and saw Hermione, he tossed his wand aside in frustration and dove for the axe that Nott had dropped by the fire.

Nott, who was scouring the ground for his wand, took after Malfoy's example and started collecting the larger stones surrounding the fire pit into his pullover that he held out like a sack. He began throwing them at Wood's back.

Out of nowhere, it seemed, Luna came up behind Wood and wound her arm around his neck, bringing him to the ground. Hermione tried to aim a spell at Wood but the two were rolling so swiftly that she was afraid to hit Luna by mistake. Finally, Wood slashed his wand across Luna's chest. A gurgle escaped Luna's throat. A dark blood began to stain her flowered blouse from the inside out.

"Luna!" Malfoy roared from behind them.

Hermione stood frozen in place, staring at Luna's moving lips. She looked like a fish that's been pulled from the lake. Or like a person drowning, gasping for air that wasn't there.

There was a whooshing that whistled past Hermione's left ear. The axe. It landed diagonally, cracked right into Wood's spine as he rose. With a dull thump, as into a tree trunk. But she heard the splintering of vertebrae. Forward he fell, over Luna's quivering body.

…

"Obviously, not all of you made it," I say. I'm mortified that I have to bring it up, but he hasn't as of yet, and I want to know what happened.

He looks at me then with a new pair of eyes. Suddenly, I'm seeing contempt in the torrent of grey. I cower – in my mind. In reality, I continue to watch him, unperturbed. "Obviously," he says tersely.

I shouldn't press him. I know I shouldn't. But, by now, I've lost all self control. "How did it happen?"

…

"You killed him," Hermione breathed as Malfoy walked past her. "You killed him!" she screamed after him.

Luna's chest heaved as Malfoy grabbed Wood in a rage and threw him to the side. Nott skidded to a halt before Luna as she was closing her eyes.

Malfoy rose again, bared his teeth, looking about.

"What are you going to do?" Hermione whispered; her face already stained with tears – when had she begun to cry?

Malfoy walked across the clearing resolutely. Hermione followed in his wake.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" she called hoarsely.

Malfoy reached the dip in the snow where he'd dropped his wand.

"Malfoy, what are you doing?" she screamed. "Malfoy, don't!"

He pointed his wand at the stunned body of Cho.

"Malfoy!" she screamed. "Stop, Malfoy! Don't!"

" _Avada Kedavra_!"


	11. Chapter 11

Hermione screamed. Over and over again she screamed. It had been a clean shot. Cho had rolled over from the impact. Her sentient eyes – the only part of her that had been moving since she’d been stunned – glazed over. Open and dead. Staring out at nothing.

“What’aveyoudone?” Hermione screamed. The words came out as nonwords. A stream of cries. Irrelevant. No one was listening to her, anyhow.

Malfoy had dropped his wand like it had burned him. Seared the palm of his hand. Like a foreign object that had no place being on his person. He had dropped it and ran. Ran past Hermione. Past her screams. Past Ron, who’d been abandoned by Neville to his own devices. Past Harry, who was just beginning to thaw. He had run to Luna. Luna’s body. Neville was already there, blubbering and incoherent. Nott was screaming for someone to get him a wand, or a cloth, or something, or anything. He was ripping Luna’s blouse away from her body. Using the snow to clear the area, inspect the wound.

Malfoy was removing his shirt at a run. He threw it at Nott before he even arrived at his side. Nott folded it in quarters and pressed it into Luna’s chest.

“Is she,” Neville sobbed, “is she going to make it?”

“Find my wand, Neville,” Nott instructed.

Malfoy stood over them, his pale body nearly translucent against the snow. He stood, white and slim, like another birch tree. He held a fist to his taut mouth, watching Nott hold the shirt tightly against the bleeding gash in Luna’s chest. She was lying in a pool of bloody snow. The hot blood was melting it. It bubbled around her. Spread.

Hermione ran to Cho. Grabbed the jacket that had slipped off of her when she rolled. She searched the ground for Nott’s wand but there was no time to really look. She ran toward the others. When she arrived, Malfoy looked up at her from underneath his brows. The rest of him didn’t move.

“Here,” she said, tossing the jacket to him.

He grasped it out of the air and donned it over his naked torso.

“Theo,” Hermione dropped to her knees. “Theo, tell me what to do!” She held her wand out.

Nott shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what to do.”

“We have to do something!” she screamed. “Tell me what to do!”

Nott raised his face to look at Malfoy. The latter tightened the fist that he kept against his mouth. His knuckles whitened. He walked around Luna’s body and picked Hermione up under her arms. She struggled, fought against him as he dragged her away. “She’s suffering, Hermione,” he was saying in a low voice.

“No!” she screamed. “No! No! What is _wrong_ with you? She’s your _friend_!”

She saw the tears coming in his eyes, despite the hard look on his face.

“She will be okay,” she pleaded. “She’s going to be okay. Please. Please don’t do this. Don’t do this, Draco.”

He held her tightly. His fingers dug into her arms.

“We can save her,” she whispered.

“How?” he said.

She saw the hope in his widening eyes. Heard it in the cracking of his voice. She was changing his mind. And she had to cling to this wavering of his resolve. Her mind raced. _How?_ His grey eyes sparkled, luminous within a frame of deepening red. “Snow,” she said quietly. Then, louder, “Snow!”

Malfoy’s grip on her loosened and she ran past him back to Nott. Back to Luna. “Nott, use the snow to constrict the blood vessels!” she screamed.

Nott turned around to look at her. “The wound is too big. It’s too deep.”

“Just _try_!” Hermione screamed, picking up an armful of snow on her way.

She piled it over Luna’s wound.

“It’s not enough,” Nott said. The snow was melting instantly upon contact with Luna’s bleeding body. He kept the pressure over Malfoy's shirt as Luna's blood drenched through it.

Hermione looked up at him angrily. “Do something, Nott!”

Hermione looked about the clearing frantically. Looked for inspiration. She saw Malfoy, standing at a distance, watching her. She saw Ron’s form farther out. Neville was nearby, still sobbing. She saw Harry, finally stirring after the ice that had encased him melted.

“That’s it,” she whispered, blinking through her tears at Harry.

“She’s going into shock,” Nott said firmly, placing a hand over Luna’s forehead as her body started to jerk.

Hermione directed her gaze back at Luna’s sweating face. She whipped out her wand and pointed it at Luna’s chest. “ _Glacius!_ ” she said. The blue stream of light hit Luna squarely in the chest and spread across her body. The light was followed by a crystallizing ice that frosted over Luna’s torso, then her arms, and legs, and finally her face.

Nott looked up at Hermione with astonishment. “That was,” he breathed, “brilliant. That was brilliant, Hermione.”

Neville crawled over, wiping at his face ferociously. “You saved her?” he was still sobbing. “You saved her, didn’t you?”

Malfoy made his way toward them, his gaze trained on Hermione. He didn’t say anything. Just slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers and sucked in his cheeks, a faint smile forming on his face.

…

“Finally,” I say.

He lifts his eyebrows. “Pardon me?”

“Finally, Hermione did something.”

Malfoy looks away from me. He doesn’t like it when I speak of her in this way. It hurts him. The trouble is that his Hermione and my Hermione are different people. “Hermione,” he says quietly, careful not to offend me, “Hermione did _everything_.” The night is still young and he’s still quite sober and I can tell that it’s weighing on him, my attitude.

I wonder why he still sits with me, night after night. He must dislike me, by now. Perhaps, he can sense something between us. Assuming there is anything to sense.

And me? I wonder if I’m testing him.

…

“You didn’t have to kill them!” Hermione was yelling.

Malfoy dropped the last of the stones back around the fire pit haphazardly. Nott looked up at him warily but continued assembling the firewood in silence. “What would you have had me do, Granger?” he yelled back. “They weren’t themselves anymore! Imperiused, or possessed, or whatever you’d like to call it.”

“We could have helped them!” she cried. “Kept them stunned or tied them to a tree until we figured it out! They didn’t have to die, Malfoy!”

“Are you joking?” he sneered. “We can barely keep ourselves alive!” He threw his arm sideways in the direction of Ginny’s hut and Luna’s frozen body. “How would we have managed? Tell me. Kept them fed, warm? Somebody has to make the difficult decisions.”

“You call that a decision?” she said derisively. “A decision demands forethought, Malfoy. A weighing of consequences. Deliberation. That was _fury_.”

“We all knew they had to go, Hermione!” he shouted. “It was a matter of when.”

She was shaking her head. “You’re cruel.”

Nott kept glancing up at Malfoy, as if waiting for him to snap.

“You need to understand something,” Malfoy said, his voice dropping suddenly to a much more dangerous tone. He always sounded more menacing when he spoke quietly. “You,” he pointed at Hermione, “them,” he pointed at the clearing, “you lot are what matter to me now! The others,” he said resolutely, “the others are gone. Deal with it.” With one last contemptuous look, one last toss of a boulder, he turned and stormed off.

Nott’s muscles relaxed. He brought his attention back to the fire he was building. Inserting the last of the logs over the white ashes of the previous fire, he said, “We need more wood.”

“I’ll get some,” Hermione said placidly.

Nott rose. “I’ll come with you.”

“No,” she said, looking up at him. “You stay. Just in case. Watch Luna. And Ginny’s not doing so well.”

He nodded at her. Lifted his hand to brush at the remainder of tears that glistened around her eyes. He sighed. “Take Draco, then,” he said.

“Absolutely not.”

Nott held onto her face calmly. Waited for her to cool off and change her mind. “Give him a break, Hermione,” he said. “We’re all trying our best.”

Hermione looked away from him. She saw Malfoy hovering over Luna’s body near the treeline. Heard him shout out to Harry, who was just walking out of Ginny’s hut. “Potter! Help me move her into the shelter.”

“Fine,” she said curtly. “He can come as long as he keeps his obnoxious comments to himself.”

Nott bit his lip but smiled. “I’ll tell him to put a lid on it.”

…

Hermione watched Malfoy chop the thicker branches of a white birch out of the corner of her eye. He worked mutely. In fact, he’d barely said a word to her since leaving camp – had only muttered a few logistical concerns about there only being one axe. Hermione, they decided, would collect the kindling. Sticks, bark, pines cones. She even found a cluster of fireweeds, whose cottony seed capsules were extremely flammable, and whose leaves they could cook and eat or dry and drink as a tea. The plants were mature enough that the leaves could even be eaten raw. Hermione cringed remembering how Neville had distributed the first fireweeds he’d found a few weeks ago. They tasted awful. But, he’d said, they were chock-full of vitamins. She was elated to find more and more long stems sticking out of the snow, their purple stalks winding through the trees like road markers. She followed their trail, musing how they could keep some of the leaves for Luna. Fireweed leaves made excellent poultice material and she could think of at least a dozen potions that required them as an ingredient.

When her sack was full of fireweeds, she directed her attention to the thick bark on the trees around her. She was no longer surrounded by skeletal birch trees. She looked around for Malfoy. No matter, she thought. She would just follow the trail of fireweeds back to him when she was finished. She went to collect a few branches. Snapped a twig. Reached and snapped another. When she grabbed the next one, it came alive in her hand.

She screamed.

The axe came down as he heard it. He thought, maybe the rush of wind against the blade? But there it was again. Malfoy was running before he even felt the nausea. The screams were Hermione’s, he knew it. He’d recognize them anywhere. He’d heard her scream like this before.

Through a dense collection of trees that flew by his face as he ran, he saw her struggling form. He hurdled towards her, seeing her blindly shoot out charms while she wrestled with what seemed to be thin air. She was using both hands to shield her face and her spells were flying wildly around her. Then, as he raced toward her, he saw her throw something up in the air – two somethings – sticks? And point her wand up, a fireball escaping its tip.

Hermione doubled over, panting, just as Malfoy arrived, stopping a few steps away and also out of breath. “Did you just –” he said, gasping, “did you just incinerate those Bowtruckles?”

Hermione looked up at him with an aggrieved expression. Her face and neck were covered in cuts. “I did,” she whimpered. “I _killed_ them.”

Malfoy stepped forward. “They’d have gouged your eyes out if you hadn’t.”

Hermione’s lips quivered, contorted. She began to shake.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “You had no choice, Granger. It was them or you.”

“What makes me better than them?” She sputtered.

He took another step. Held out a tentative hand to her arm. “They’re only Bowtruckles, Granger. I’d have done the same.”

She moved her shoulder out of his reach. “That’s no consolation, Malfoy.”

Malfoy’s face hardened. “I suspect they’re not the last things to die by our hand before we’re through with this place.”

Hermione was staring ahead, past Malfoy, her tears still pooled within her eyes. “You were right, Malfoy,” she said coolly. “They had to go.”

Malfoy watched her swimming eyes dry before more tears could escape. “Are we still talking about the Bowtruckles?” he said finally.

…

“The runaway ensemble,” Malfoy chuckled resentfully. “That’s what she used to call us.”

I begin to know him so well that I could tell exactly how many drinks he’s had just by looking at him when I walk into the bar. Squinting his eyes when he looks up at me from a distance? Six. Swaying slightly on his barstool without noticing I’ve arrived? Eight. Slurring his words to the point where I can hardly understand what he says? Ten. _Ten drinks_. I’d be under the table in less than five. He’s built up quite a tolerance over the years.

He likes to mix too. Whiskey, then beer, then whiskey again. Sometimes, he gets really wild and takes a few swigs of absinthe. This isn’t served at the bar; he carries a flask. He brings a flask _to a bar_. The fear of being without torments him perpetually.

I cringe. “That sounds judgmental.”

Malfoy scoffs, hiccups. “She was right.”

…

Hermione wiped her face with the back of hand, smearing blood over her cheeks. Malfoy didn’t know what else to say to her. Without giving anything away.

She was preoccupied with her guilt so she didn’t hear right away. He heard. Heard the crunching of snow. Footsteps. Slow, methodical, human. Malfoy grabbed Hermione with both hands and spun her around, slamming her into a nearby tree. He stood so close to her that he was practically leaning against her. His body concealed her entirely from the world; concealed the world entirely from her. His face hovered above hers for a moment before he looked up, his eyes darting back and forth, taking in their surroundings.

Something about Malfoy’s body made her warm – always. It must have been the jacket he was wearing that was wrapping itself around her now that they were standing so close together. It wasn’t Malfoy that made her want to throw caution to the wind and bury herself within his chest, sheltered by the soft lapels of his jacket. It was his warmth that beckoned her. Or, rather, her warmth, when he was near.

She looked up at him, her face tear stained, covered with dirt and dried blood. Twigs in her hair, wisps of fireweed seeds. His heartrate accelerated; they were in danger. But he couldn’t seem to concentrate on the approaching footsteps, nor the escalating voices. Because all his senses at once were attuned to her hands that she’d placed one over the other, and over his chest.

He stole a moment to look at her, their safety be damned. At her weary eyes, roused by the imminent danger. At the red outline of her cracked lips. Her flushed cheeks, still hot and blotchy from her latest crying spell. The sparkle of tears that hasn’t yet dried beneath her eyes. And her wet eyelashes. She watched him, also. Her fingers dug into his skin. Frightened.

The footsteps were right behind the tree now. They had nowhere to go. If they ran, they’d be caught. If they moved around the trunk, they would be heard. If they stayed absolutely still, what were the chances of them going unobserved?

Malfoy lowered his head into Hermione’s. Placed a hand over her two on his chest. And breathed.

Hermione breathed too. Raised her face slightly. They’d be taken. But before they were taken, couldn’t they just –

The footsteps were beside them. Slowly, Malfoy and Hermione turned their heads to face their captors.

“I saw someone, I swear it,” one of the two cloaked figures spoke. A Death Eater, unmasked. He looked around at the trees and seemed to look _right though them_.

Malfoy furrowed his brows. Hermione’s hands shook and he squeezed them in his palm.

“The screams came from nearby, I’m sure of it,” the other figure spoke. When he turned to face them, Hermione flinched. But he didn’t seem to see them either.

When the Death Eaters had walked on and disappeared from view, Malfoy turned to face Hermione once more. She was smiling, laughing. “How did they not see us?” she was saying. Her hands were already falling away from his chest. She was already raking them through the knots in her hair. She placed them over her cheeks and blinked up at him in shock.

He watched her in his own bewilderment. How, indeed?

She was leaning against the tree and when she went to detach herself, her hair caught on a twig. As she was unravelling herself from the branch, she skimmed her palm over the ragged bark. “Of course,” she whispered.

“Of course?” Malfoy questioned.

“Bowtruckles. They’re tree guardians,” Hermione said. “And these are no ordinary trees.”

Malfoy raised his eyebrows.

“It’s a Wiggentree,” she breathed. “I’ve never seen one before. Outside of textbooks, of course.”

“Naturally,” Malfoy smirked. “So, the Wiggentree makes us invisible?”

“No,” Hermione shook her head. “It protects anyone who touches its trunk from Dark Magic. I’m assuming that it camouflaged us, as it does the Bowtruckles.”

Malfoy stared at her. “That’s brilliant,” he said. “Let’s chop a piece to take with us.”

He reached for a particularly thick branch, but Hermione grabbed his hand. “Don’t, Malfoy! The Bowtruckles, remember? Unless you’ve some fairy eggs in your back pocket to distract them, they’ll chisel your eyes out before your axe even hits the tree.”

“There aren’t any on this one,” Malfoy peered around the crevices of the bark.

“You won’t see them until it’s too late,” Hermione said. “They’re skittish. They’ll only attack if they feel the tree is threatened.”

…

There isn’t anything here. A desk. A chair – swivel. No artwork on the walls. No moving pictures. No enchanted clocks or floating objects. No strange books on the bookshelf. No. Theodore Nott’s London flat is disturbingly ordinary. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought he’d given up on the wizarding world altogether. But I do; I do know better. Theodore Nott has spent the better part of his life devoted to the study of thaumaturgic neuroscience. A concentrated effort on merging the study of magical healing with translational neurobehavioural research. Repenting for old sins, I presume. I wonder, standing in the doorway, if he’s found what he’s looking for. He turns to me from inside after hanging his jacket on one of two hooks on the wall, and his face betrays nothing.

I hesitate before entering. I wonder how this will work now. Now that he’s invited me in. Now that he’s no longer just a subject. Just a character from an old, ever-adapting tale. The story, it seems, has been molded and remolded. Within me, first and foremost. I don’t know if I even truly remember the first edition. The brain is a malleable thing. Soft. Weak. Impressionable. Just ask Nott.

“Wine?” he says, striding into the wide-open space of the living room which clearly doubles as his study, what with the desk and the chair and the bookshelves.

“Of course,” I say. He smiles before disappearing into the kitchen. I stand at the centre of the room, revolving. How will I ask him my questions now? Now that he’s become – now that he’s no longer Dr. Theodore Nott. Now that he’s just Theo. I look back at him as he brings out the wine goblets. I collect myself, await the relief the wine should bring. My guilt can’t even be a fraction of his. And he still lives and breathes.

He walks over to his desk and pushes on the left drawer. The entire left half rotates to expose a circular wine rack, with several bottles laid out on display while others are stacked away further in. I stare at the impeccable presentation before me in awe. He takes up a bottle and holds it out to show me. I suppose there is something here. Something that isn’t a desk or a chair or a bookshelf. Theodore Nott is here. And, let me tell you, he is a delight.

…

Nott had added more logs to the fire as soon as they’d returned with the wood. Neville was skinning two of the four rabbits he’d caught with Ron earlier on. Ron was arranging the meat on skewers. They had set the fur aside for drying. Nott and Malfoy were sitting with their backs to the fire, facing the rushing water of the creek where Hermione was washing blood off her face.

Nott spoke first, watching Hermione cup her hands and bring the water over her face. “You two sort out your shit?”

Malfoy was also staring ahead. Also at Hermione. “It’s sorted,” he said.

Nott curled in his lips, biting into their flesh. He lowered his gaze. They sat in silence for a while before he spoke again. “Did you notice,” he said, “where Wood was headed?”

Malfoy hunched his shoulders upward, wrapping his jacket tighter over his body. “I noticed.”

Nott turned to look at him. “Now, what would he want with the shelters?”

Malfoy was still watching Hermione by the creek as she scrubbed the dirt from her hands. Watched the water glide down her cheeks and drip from her nose. Watched it slide over her chin, run down her neck, disappear under the collar of her shirt. “What, indeed?” he said.

As if on cue, they both looked over at Ginny’s hut. “I sense,” Nott said, “that we’re not the only ones here with a secret, Draco.”

…

Secrets. Everyone has at least one. I have a secret. I watch Nott pour the wine into the goblet, twist the bottle expertly, lift up the glass and hold it out towards me. I wait until he’s poured his own to start drinking. He holds up his glass. “Cheers,” he says.

That’s when I realize. Correction: I’ve been realizing for quite some time. But I've been in a perpetual state of denial. Just like they are. But now I definitively realize. I have gone too far. This is sick. This is wrong. This is not me.

He doesn’t know who I am. I could be anybody. But for how long? Sooner or later, secret or not, the truth, however distorted, infiltrates even the grandest illusions. Even the grandest delusions.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I just got an Apple Pencil and I may or may not have been playing with it for the last two weeks. You can expect me to drop some art in the near future if I'm brave enough.
> 
> In the meantime, I present to you a monster of a chapter. I hope you like it!

"You and Hermione," I say.

Nott lets out a groan, leaning back in his seat and downing the rest of the wine in his glass, as if he'd been expecting this.

I set my own glass down on the polished surface of his side table, inwardly cringing that there are no coasters available to shield its flawless finish. "What happened there?" I say after an awkward silence.

He runs a finger across his chin, studying me. He narrows his eyes, tightens his mouth, waits for me to say something else. I don't. He shrugs, finally. "Hermione and I were not meant to be."

I consider this statement skeptically. "You don't strike me as the type to believe in 'meant to be'."

He sighs. "Why does she interest you so?"

I scoff, react as though he's attacked me personally. "She doesn't. I mean, I'm interested in all of it. It's why I sought you out. You and Draco Malfoy."

He cocks his head to the side and directs a rather weighty glance at me. "Me," he says, "and Draco Malfoy?"

I look away, knowing that I've let something slip. "I needed multiple primary sources. I couldn't just take your word for it."

Nott sits up in his seat. The dim floodlights from overhead fade over his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones. "Take my word for what?"

…

What will be the penalty? The consequence of their cowardice? Surely whatever their punishment would be, it couldn't supersede the guilt that came hand in hand with their decision to run. To hide. To vanish. Hermione wondered what became of the world, as she dipped her hands into the icy water of the creek. Was there a world that still existed outside of the walls of the Forbidden Forest? Because they had become walls, the trees. They were their protection, their privacy, their boundary.

Her hands were becoming numb, unburdened. She brought the creek to her face. It was easier to not imagine at all. As if there were a great big nothing beyond. The Forbidden Forest within a vacuum. Hurtling through a bottomless abyss. Or perhaps suspended, floating, hanging within a vast emptiness. Everyone who's ever existed already gone. Nobody left to worry about.

"What's on your mind?"

Hermione recognized the hands that twisted before her eyes were her own. Her fingers were wringing one another, still dripping with creek water. But she wasn't at the creek anymore.

"Hermione?"

She didn't look up. Not yet. It was difficult to extricate herself from the tangles of her mind this time. She continued to stare into the heat of the fire. Because she was at the fire now. Sitting before it, watching it. She was the fire.

Someone sat beside her. An arm reached around her shoulders.

"Are you cold?"

Hypothermia? That was their best guess?

The back of someone's hand swept across her forehead. She could feel by the heat of the hand that she did not have a fever.

Was this what it felt like? To lose yourself somewhere. Somewhere within the confines of your own mind. Confines. As if the mind were a prison. As if the mind were not infinite. With so many places to run. To hide. To vanish.

…

I am getting up to leave because the tables have turned. He's posing all the questions now and I can't give him any answers.

"Marian," Nott stands up. I hand him my empty glass and he takes it, places it on the table absentmindedly, following me through the front corridor. "Marian, will you just _explain_ yourself?"

I could tell that he's torn. Torn between anger and fear. But Theodore Nott shows neither emotion. He's infuriatingly good at composing himself. I wonder what it's like inside his mind. I wonder where he keeps the turmoil.

"You can't just _leave_."

"I can," I say. I know this isn't the first time he's had to let someone go.

"Who _are_ you?"

He says this as I shut the door behind myself. And Theodore Nott is too proud to reopen it.

…

It was Nott who had sat beside her. Because now he was standing again, and then crouching before her. In between her and the fire. He placed his hands on her knees. His presence broke the concentration between her eyes and the fire that danced before them, hypnotising. She glanced at his worried eyes. He waited patiently for her to see him.

"Are you there?" he said.

She nodded. It's not that she hadn't cared to respond. It's that she hadn't cared _enough_.

"Say something, Hermione." Nott looked at her in desperation.

Hermione looked past him at Malfoy, who was standing just behind the flames, watching her gravely.

"I'm fine, Theo," she said. "Just a little tired."

Nott rose and slowly turned his back to her. To Malfoy, he said in a low voice, "Do you know what's happening here?"

"I said, it's nothing, Theo," she said defiantly, a sort of antagonism coursing through her at his disregard for her assertion.

Nott looked back at her skeptically while Malfoy continued to watch her mutely.

"Have you checked on Luna?" she said. It's not that she wasn't concerned about Luna, but there was no denying the question was a distraction.

"Neville looked in before he and Ron went hunting," Nott replied, still keeping an unconvinced gaze trained on her.

"Ginny!"

The three looked over to see Ginny hobbling over to the fire pit with Harry hot on her heels. Her red hair flew wildly around her face; she looked like a walking torch, blazing her way toward them despite Harry's efforts to impede her.

"Ginny!" he was hissing behind her. "Ginny, don't!"

Ginny twisted out of his grasp when he went to clutch her wrist. "They have a right to know, Harry. They'll find out eventually, anyhow."

Hermione's gaze drifted from Harry to Ginny and back again. She suddenly remembered that the girl had tried to confide in her during the Oliver Wood debacle. Talk about bad timing.

"What's the matter, Ginny?" Hermione called. When she went to get up, Nott bounded toward her, steadying her as she rose.

"For goodness sake, Theo, I'm fine!" she sighed. She slid his hands off of her arms and walked toward Ginny.

"Here we go," Nott muttered to Malfoy, eyeing Ginny as Hermione positioned her on a log by the fire.

Ginny sighed. "I have something to say."

"Ginny, don't," Harry said again.

Hermione gave Harry a disdainful look. "You can tell me, Ginny," she said softly.

"It's not you I'm worried about," Harry said.

"Really, Potter?" Malfoy said in a condescending tone. "You still don't trust me?"

Harry turned to him with a contemptuous expression. "What exactly have you done that was trustworthy, Malfoy?"

Malfoy grimaced but said nothing else.

"Ginny," Nott said steadily. "Are you here to tell us why the Death Eaters, or rather, the prisoners – Imperiused or possessed or whatever they may be – are after you?"

Harry let out a dramatic sigh and Hermione shot him another impatient glance.

"They're not after me," Ginny said quietly.

Nott watched Ginny placidly, as if he already knew what she was going to say.

As Hermione began to understand what Ginny was saying, she felt a heaviness begin to consume her again. Drown her from the inside.

"They're after the heir of Harry Potter," she said. She placed an instinctive hand over her belly.

Nott pursed his lips and took a deep breath, staring past Ginny now, thinking.

Hermione closed her eyes, trying to slow the whistling of her mind. Or speed it up. Let it run its course. One or the other.

Malfoy's face contorted. "Oh no." He shook his head. "I did not sign up for this. I did not sign up to deliver a baby in the wilderness."

"Nobody signed up for this, Malfoy," Harry barked back.

"You were going to keep this from us?" Hermione breathed.

"It's none of their business!" Harry pointed at Malfoy and Nott.

Hermione stared at him. "You didn't think that they'd notice when Ginny began to blow up like a balloon despite the obvious lack of food?"

"I didn't even know if –" Harry trailed off when Ginny looked up at him. He sighed. "I didn't know if she was still pregnant after – after the battle."

"It's why your recovery was so difficult," Nott said. "Your body was fighting for two lives."

"I'm scared," Ginny said quietly.

"No need to be scared, Red," Nott said, looking up at Harry. "We won't let anything happen to you."

Harry nodded at Nott resolutely.

"This is fucked up," Malfoy said. He shook his head again and began to walk away. He thrust his hands into his hair, pacing. "You ever delivered a child, Nott?" he said, stopping suddenly. "I mean, I know you're smart. But this? Not even you can do this."

Nott looked at Ginny. "It's not complicated," he said, winking at her. "Nature does most of the work, yeah?" He smiled tightly and placed a hand over Ginny's. "We've got this."

Malfoy swore in the background. "I'm going to go check on Luna," he said and walked off.

"Let's take a walk, Ginny," Harry helped Ginny up from the log.

"That's good," Nott nodded. "Best get her strength up. Walking is good."

…

His hair falls in waves over his face. Cascades like the rushing of a waterfall. It whips against his cheeks in the wind. White like the moon. On a dark night like tonight, it seems to be the only source of light. I come from behind him.

"Why'd you follow me?" he says without turning. His hair flies wildly about as he stares out across the river.

I approach him and grasp the railing of the pier. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

He looks over at me. "Why wouldn't I be?"

So many reasons. "No reason."

He tentatively places his palm over my knuckles as I continue to clutch the railing. "One day," he says, "you'll tell me."

"Tell you what?" I say.

"What this is all about."

I guess he no longer believes me to be a journalist, out for a good story. Well, a story. Whether or not it's good isn't for me to decide. I'm hardly impartial. "Do you think you're a good person?" I say.

Malfoy smirks a classic Malfoy smirk. The first I've ever seen. "Define good."

Well, that's one thing we have in common. A shared belief in the utter relativity of that word. Under the warmth of his hand, I want to believe there's more.

…

"No!"

Hermione looked up to see Malfoy run frantically out of Luna's hut. She jumped up, her heart not quite following her up. It hammered somewhere inside of her, dislocated. She feared the worst, of course, that Luna was dead. But, as she began to make her way toward the shelter, Malfoy continued to scream.

"Where is she?"

"What?" Nott was already making his way over.

"She's gone!" Malfoy howled. "She's just _gone!_ "

Hermione, together with Nott, ran over to the shelter to check for themselves.

"Did you think I missed her?" Malfoy growled through gritted teeth when they turned to face him. His face was ashen.

Hermione looked back into the shelter in disbelief. "Where the bloody hell did she go?"

"Someone took her," Malfoy hissed. He shoved Nott. "You were supposed to _watch_ her."

"Malfoy, it wasn't his fault!" Hermione positioned herself between them.

Nott sighed and shook his head. "I don't know how it happened." Hermione could tell by his voice that he felt responsible.

Malfoy swore and struck the shelter with his fist. Some foliage crumbled away with a soft avalanche of snow, but the structure stayed surprisingly intact despite the impact. Malfoy roared in frustration, poised to kick at the logs when Nott grabbed him by the arm. "Is destroying one of our two shelters really the most productive solution here?"

Malfoy twisted his arm out of Nott's grasp but kept a moody gaze on him, nonetheless.

Nott nodded sideways, in the direction Hermione had gone. She had her hands on her head, her fingers raked through the knots in her hair. She stared out into the forest behind the shelters. She was muttering something under her breath.

"What's up with her?" Malfoy said.

Nott shifted his jaw in contemplation. "Stress. Trauma. Starvation. You name it."

Malfoy seemed unconvinced. "There's more."

Nott began to walk toward her, with Malfoy not far behind.

"We have to get her back," she was whispering feverishly.

"Hermione?" Nott put a hand on her shoulder.

She jerked away. "We can't lose her too!" she cried. "We can't! He can't have her too!"

She was sobbing and Nott pulled her into his chest while Malfoy stood aside and watched. Nott tightened his lips and placed his hand over her hair, tucked her head under his chin.

"No," Hermione was shaking her head, squirming out of his grasp. "No!" she screamed. "She will _not_ be another casualty of this war!"

"What do you propose we do?" Malfoy said gruffly. "Storm the front doors of the castle?"

Hermione blinked at him and his ego seemed to retreat at the sight of the tears in her eyes.

"There's nothing we can do, Hermione," he said quietly. "We've barely any magic. We have but a fraction of their forces."

"We can kill him," she said.

"Kill _who?_ " Malfoy grimaced.

"Voldemort."

"Are you out of your mind?" he said, trying to steady his voice. He glanced at Nott as if expecting him to contribute somehow to the conversation.

"I am tired of hiding! If he kills us, then so be it!"

"Speak for yourself!" Malfoy yelled.

"Alright, alright," Nott said. "Let's just take a moment to cool off, shall we?"

Hermione fixed Malfoy with a bitter stare. "Once a coward, always a coward."

At this Malfoy clenched his fists and brought them up to his face. He seemed to be shaking with fury. After a failed attempt to compose himself, he shouted, "He's not even here!"

Nott shot Malfoy a disapproving glance but said nothing.

Hermione stared at Malfoy. "What do you mean, he's not here?"

Malfoy sighed. "The Dark Lord. He's not at Hogwarts."

Hermione felt the goosepimples scatter across her skin. "How do you know," she said dangerously, "where the _Dark Lord_ isn't?"

"I can explain," he began.

"You better." She started for him, but Nott held out his arm to block her from approaching Malfoy. She looked up at him in shock.

Malfoy watched her with his own dose of malice. "How did you think we were all able to escape into the Forbidden Forest undetected?" he said savagely. "They _let us go_."

Hermione stared at him. Even though she'd already guessed it, hearing the words felt like someone had sucked the air from her lungs. But how could she feel betrayed? What had she expected from Malfoy? "You're a Death Eater," she said with repulsion.

"Honestly, Granger. If you still think I'm a Death Eater, then we've got nothing else to discuss," Malfoy huffed and began to walk away.

"Draco," Nott said, "will you give her a chance to understand?"

"You!" Hermione rounded on Nott. "You _knew_ about this?"

"That's right," Malfoy called back nastily. "Your boyfriend here knew all about it. In fact, he'd helped me plan it all."

Nott sighed and looked at Hermione. "Hear me out," he said quietly.

Hermione watched Nott in disgust when it dawned on her. She peered around Nott to see Malfoy. "You knew they would come for us, didn't you?"

"Of course, I knew!" Malfoy roared, marching back toward them. "I told you all that we needed to move!"

"You could have told us that you knew they were coming!" she cried.

"I told _you!_ " he screamed back at her, sticking his index finger into her chest and nearly sending her falling backwards.

"Easy, Draco," Nott held his hand out between them again.

But Hermione had no intention of backing down. "You didn't tell me you had _inside information_."

Malfoy gritted his teeth. "That the Death Eaters were after us all was hardly _inside information_."

"But you – you led him right to us!" Hermione screamed, overcome by rage. "It was all your fault!"

"It wasn't his fault, Hermione," Nott said.

"You could have told me," Hermione shook her head, watching Malfoy's mask crack as his eyes betrayed his torment. "That you were following Voldemort's orders to get us out. But that you had defected."

"I guess Potter's not the only one with trust issues," Malfoy snapped.

Tears rolled down Hermione's face. "I would've believed you."

"Like hell you would've," Malfoy spat. He turned once more and stalked off.

Hermione tore her gaze away from the back of his blond head. She blinked back her tears, swallowed back the lump in her throat, stared into the white landscape of the birch and snow and birch again. She sighed finally, and looked up at Nott. "I've got to go."

Nott's face paled. "Go where?"

"I have to find out what they're doing to our friends."

Nott shook his head. "You're not thinking straight."

Hermione blinked at him coldly. "Unless you already know."

Nott watched her soberly. "Unfortunately, I was not privy to that kind of intelligence."

"Well," she said, "in that case, you're of no use to me."

"Hermione." He clasped her hand in his when she began to walk away. "What are you going to do? Just walk in unarmed? Then what?"

"I'll think of something on the way," she said.

"If you're doing this to spite us, you've made your point."

"I'm doing this," she said, taking his hand off her arm, "to save my friends."

"Then I'm coming with you," he said.

Hermione looked back at the fire in the middle of the clearing, still burning. The logs situated around it. It almost looked inviting. Something she'd grown accustomed to. A home she longed to return to every time she ventured out. "You and I both know that you're needed here. Ginny needs you. Besides, it'll be much easier to spy if I'm on my own. Two bodies are twice as easy to spot as one."

Slowly, Nott's hand began to slide away from hers. And then she turned away and began to walk.

Behind her, she heard Malfoy's voice, gaining on them. "Where is she going?" At first, it was in a mildly irritated tone. Then, she heard him yell. "What? You're just going to let her go? Are you out of your mind?"

She heard Nott's steady voice. "She's her own person. I can't stop her."

"I can." Was Malfoy's answer.

Hermione closed her eyes briefly to shut him out. She continued to walk.

"Granger!" She could hear the snow crunching behind her as he ran to catch up. She contemplated running but realized how childish that would be. She needed to conserve her energy. "Granger, stop for a moment, will ya?"

She sighed, stopped walking. He deserved a goodbye at least.

He caught up with her quickly. "What's this about? You're leaving on my account?" He tried to make light of the situation as he stopped to catch his breath.

"It has nothing to do with you," she said curtly.

He fixed her with a knowing look. "Let's not do that, Granger. Let's not insult one another's intelligence."

"Let's not," she said.

He let out a heavy – agonized sigh. "You can't go, Granger. You can't go in there."

"Why not?"

Malfoy watched her with a growing intensity. "Because you won't come back."

"You clearly don't know what I'm capable of."

"I'm not letting you go on your own –"

"And I'm not letting you come with me."

Malfoy stood his ground. "I'm coming, Hermione!"

"For all we know, he's got some tracker on you, Malfoy! How else would they have been able to find us – _twice?_ "

His eyes shifted back and forth between hers. He looked like he was in possession of a tortured soul – his own. "I am begging you, don't do this."

She needed to look away from the misery that consumed his gaze.

"Are you doing this to hurt me?"

Her eyes shot back up at him. "Contrary to what you might believe, Malfoy, not everything is about you."

He smirked through his sadness. "Just most things?"

She scoffed, "I'd love to be around on the day you realize that Draco Malfoy is as insignificant as the rest of us."

She felt his fingertips connect with her own, somewhere below her line of sight. "You're hardly insignificant. So, I'll take it, I suppose." Every particle between them seemed to be charged as he moved closer.

"That was the wrong interpretation, Malfoy."

He continued sifting his fingers through hers. "What if I never see you again?"

She smiled wistfully. "A world without Hermione Granger."

He lowered his head against hers. "You know I can't fathom that."

They could've stood indefinitely but it wouldn't have been long enough. She was breathless and it dazed her. Being this close to something that her entire being – except her rational mind – wanted. The flames that had danced hypnotically before her eyes, she imagined they were devouring her. Taking her far away in a sea of fire. Until she was no longer anywhere at all.

She thought of gasping as she kept her head above the surface of the blaze. It burned within her, out of her. At the tips of her fingers, where his hand had skimmed along them; in her head, where he rested his forehead; inside her chest, where the spark had been lit. Was this how she was meant to disappear? She was pulled in his direction. Not by him. By some other, invisible force.

She could pull him in too. He would come willingly. She could sweep him up within the inferno of her mind. But she cared enough about him now, to wonder how much it would break him if she, in fact, did not return.

"If I leave now," she said quietly, almost against his mouth, "I'll make it there by nightfall."

He moved his lips as they hovered above hers, as if they were kissing her. But they weren't. He clasped the fingers he was toying with and sighed unsteadily, closing his eyes. She began to separate herself from him, and he took her by the face, then. His hands over her cheeks. He looked intently over her face, into her eyes. "Come back to me."

…

"Where is Hermione?" I say.

He takes his hand off mine and slides it into his back pocket, producing a silver flask. He unscrews the cap in silence. The absinthe. For special occasions, as he likes to say.

"Do you know?" I push.

"Dead," he says and takes a swig.

I feel myself recoil, my body reacts even though my mind hasn't quite caught up.

"I hope," he adds. "I wouldn't want to consider the alternative."

I'm suddenly incredibly cold. I almost can't speak because I think that I might cry. "Have you ever gone looking for her?"

He looks down at the swirling waters of the Thames and I think for a moment that he might throw himself into them. I almost prepare myself to catch him before he can go through with it. But he just stares down at the darkness beneath us. "I look for her everywhere."

It's not what I meant, but I don't persist. He's been through enough. And I wish I could take it from him. His pain.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author Notes: Thank you all so much for reading! I absolutely love seeing all of your comments and messages. I can't tell you how much your support means to me! It really does allow me to break through the writer's block knowing how much you are enjoying this story.

"You _let her go?_ " Ron yelled, more in the direction of Malfoy than Nott, when they informed him of Hermione's decision to leave.

"Have you met Hermione?" Nott said, raising his eyebrows to indicate his amusement. "There wasn't much _letting_ involved."

Ron was shaking his head disdainfully. "Harry's going to murder you."

"Good," Malfoy spat. "I can't wait to tell him."

Nott directed a rather loud sigh at Malfoy. He then turned back to Neville and Ron. He could see that Neville was distraught after hearing the news about Luna. He wanted to tell him that Hermione would get her back but he didn't even know if they'd get Hermione back. Instead, he said, "What've you got for us today, boys?"

…

Who am I? The question haunts me. I pass by the tinted window of a boxy, old Mustang; the face I see, slightly stretched and tilted, is one I've never been able to reconcile with what I carry inside. I don't stop. I walk by the warped reflection as if it doesn't interest me. It does though. Distorted as it may be. Because I keep looking – searching for a hint. A trace of something else. Someone else.

It's been close to a week since we've spoken. It's difficult for me to resume a conversation based largely on lies. But I must persevere; I've come so far.

Perhaps he's waited for me every day. At our little, round table at the Grey Goat Bar and Grill. Perhaps he'd hoped I'd show up. Perhaps he's still waiting today.

I climb the steps slowly, feel the creaking of the wooden planks underneath my sandals. I watch my feet for as long as possible, delaying the moment I have to look up to see if he's there. I nearly make it all the way to our table before lifting my chin.

I smile. There he sits, watching as I approach. I lower myself into the chair across from him without saying a word. I'm not quite sure what to say, anyway.

He fixes me with a long, contemplative stare, as if he's not at all surprised to see me, even though I've been gone for six days. I can't maintain the eye contact unabashedly so I blink away and back at him several times before sinking deeper into the hot, steel mesh of the patio chair, feeling the wrought iron of its ornamental back dig into my shoulder blades, inviting the pain as penance.

"I think," he says finally, after I settle into my seat, "I trust you."

Instead of glancing up at him, I look further down. Sideways. Anywhere but at his hopeful eyes.

What about me gives the impression of credibility? I begin to question his judgement. It doesn't seem prudent. And I've always regarded Theodore Nott as a prudent man.

"Thank you," I say. I feel him examine my expression, in pursuit of answers, no doubt. The joke is on him. I've been concealing my nature for as long as I can remember.

I'm already contemplating an escape trajectory. Which way shall I run? How far? For how long? Will he eventually pull me back in?

He holds his hand out across the table. His signature fragrance of leather and cigarette smoke wafts in my direction when he stirs. "I don't need to know," he says. "Whatever it is. I don't need to know."

I do.

Something has been hidden from me. Taken. And I'm trying to get it back.

…

Neville was holding up two rabbits and a squirrel. He and Ron had been experimenting with setting traps and these seemed to be more reliable than hunting. With the increasingly regular provisions, Nott was realizing that he was beginning to regain some of his more dynamic abilities. He was able to transfigure some knives out of the set of sharpened rocks they used for skinning, a blanket from the fur they'd been saving for Ginny, and he was even able to conjure some matches for easier fire building.

Nott was folding the blanket up beside the fire to warm it when Ginny and Harry returned from their walk. He gave them a tight smile and held the blanket out to Ginny.

"Thank you," Ginny smiled at him.

"You better have a seat." Nott was lousy at delivering bad news.

"Alright," Ginny began to lower herself onto the log.

"I meant Potter," Nott said.

Harry looked up at him sharply. "What happened?" He began to inspect the clearing instinctively.

"Granger's gone." It was Malfoy's voice that carried over the rising flames of the newly built fire.

"Gone?" Harry croaked.

"Not _gone_ ," Nott gave Malfoy a frustrated look before turning back to Harry. "Just not _here_."

"Where is she?" Harry seemed to be losing a barely contained temper.

"Honestly, what's it to you?" Malfoy spat. "You've barely looked in her direction for weeks."

Harry tried to push past Nott around the fire pit to get to Malfoy. "What are you on about, Malfoy? Where is she?"

Malfoy rose. He only fleetingly glanced over Harry, as if it disgusted him to even look in his direction. He turned away before Harry could get his hands on him and, after throwing a couple more logs into the fire pit, causing a flurry of ash to lift from the pit in a slow motion kind of dance, walked off angrily.

…

He weaves his fingers through mine. He's looking at me as though he anticipates that I might drift away with the first wind that blows through the evening and is ready do anything to keep me in place. His touch seems to anchor me so that I'm no longer simply a transient form but a stable being, permanent with or without his hold. I tend to spend a lot of time inside my head but, in his presence, I become aware of what is tangible, the parts of me that are concrete. Ironic, seeing as he is likely more drawn to what is underneath. But there it is, the touch that grounds me and simultaneously lifts my heart, as if by inertia, as if the rest of me were in freefall, and my heart were lagging behind, unaware that I've fallen at all. Something about this man holds me in place where it seems I might break away, sail along with the current. I'd lift from the chair, my hand still in his grasp, and flutter in the wind like a cloak. Lighter. Like a veil. Concealing something either way.

I'm glad that he's holding on. Otherwise, there's no telling where I'll end up.

"I don't know," he says, "what to make of this." He lifts our hands to indicate that he's talking about "us".

The way he looks at me is the way I imagine my father once looked upon my mother. This thought, while initially comforting, begins to sicken me. I snatch my hand away, wondering why I do this to myself. _It can't be…_ the host of voices begin to chant inside my head. It can't be. I try to breathe through it while he watches me cautiously. He's probably worried that if he moves I might bolt. He's wrong. I'm stronger than that.

I clear my throat and reposition myself in my seat, feeling the comfort of the grainy iron against my back. Corporeal. "Tell me something," I say, as if nothing, really, were out of place. "Why did you let her go?"

"I beg your pardon?"

I suck in my cheek and dig my teeth into its flesh. "Why did you _let_ her go?"

His eyes sink into a terrible sadness now, where once, probably before me, they contained a controlled spark. I'd seen it when first we met. "Which time?"

His hand is still lying open on the rickety, little table, but I don't intend to take it. I try not to imagine how warm my hand would feel in his. If only he hadn't let her go. I bet he's thinking the same thing. I bet he's been thinking it ever since.

What he doesn't know is that I blame him. Not Draco Malfoy. Not Harry Potter. _Him_. He could have held tighter. He could have prevented the gale from tearing her away. He could have held on, let her flounder in the current, flail in the breeze. He could have anchored _her_.

Perhaps it's why he's holding onto me now. Atonement. Regret. Doesn't he know? Regret is a waste of emotion. Sometimes there's no opportunity for a second time around.

…

In the dusk, the branches swayed grotesquely, sending the wind swirling into the empty spaces between the trees, lifting clouds of snow into the air. Malfoy sat with his back to the fire, allowing its heat to warm his core even while his extremities were nearly frozen. Certainly cold enough that he couldn't properly hold the wand that he was trying to twirl around his fingers to keep them moving. He dropped it into the snow and swore, using his foot to kick away the mound of snow that swallowed it.

He looked back into the trees, wondering where she was. If she also found the trees particularly menacing tonight. He wondered why he hadn't given her his jacket before she went. What if she wouldn't make it in by nightfall? What if she were to freeze to death by the steps of the school? What if that were what should take Hermione Granger? Winter. Perhaps she would fall, break something. Lie in the snow alone and helpless. Freezing. Perhaps she would get lost. They knew the trails fairly well by now, but the forest was different in the nighttime. It was a dangerous place. What if she came across one of the myriad of creatures that inhabited the woods?

His guilt began to display the various scenarios in which Hermione Granger might parish before his eyes. Yes, perhaps she would succumb to the elements. Before she even encountered a Death Eater. This thought was almost comforting to him, considering the alternative. Eaten alive by some beast or other. Captured. Tortured. Raped. Malfoy squeezed his eyes shut and dug his hand into the snow for his wand, keeping it there a few seconds longer than necessary and wincing through the ache that throbbed within the numbness. If only he could hurt himself to take away the pain that might be inflicted upon her.

He opened his eyes finally, lifting the wand out of the snow, his fingers gripped around it – although he wouldn't be able to tell if he weren't looking right at them. He looked past the wand, it faded out of focus slowly as he gazed beyond it into the trees again. He blinked then, rubbing his eyes with his freezing hand. The heat from his face seeped into his fingers making them ache once more. Even more so than when he plunged them into the snow. The thaw was worse. He blinked again into the darkness as a figure emerged from between the trees.

He stood slowly, clasping his hand around his wand as best he could while not actually feeling it in his grasp. He nearly wavered in the breeze. Was he awake? The figure continued walking forward tentatively. As the face floated into focus, Malfoy nearly whimpered. He could be hallucinating. He hoped that he was.

Then, Nott stepped into his peripheral vision. Malfoy noticed that Nott, too, had his fingers wrapped around the wand in his back pocket. When he saw this, he stepped forward before even thinking, and grasped Nott by the arm, staying his wand hand.

"Wait," Malfoy whispered. "Please, wait."

Behind them, Ron and Harry were rising from their logs. When Neville saw the apparition, he leapt up from his log and ran forward. If Malfoy hadn't caught him by the waist mid-run, he probably wouldn't have stopped. There were tears in Malfoy's eyes as he saw Ron and Harry edging around them toward Ginny's shelter, their wands stretched outward, ready for anything.

"Draco."

Malfoy whipped his head around to face the sound.

"Neville."

She was pleading. Malfoy let out a silent sigh, feeling his body shake violently.

Neville struggled against Malfoy's grasp. Malfoy set his jaw and said placidly, "Don't be an idiot, Longbottom."

"I don't have a wand." She held her arms up and the movement sent four wands pointing in her direction.

Malfoy turned to look at Nott frantically. Malfoy was holding his own wand out but he nearly disarmed Nott for pulling his.

"Luna," Neville sobbed. "Luna, I'm so sorry."

Malfoy swallowed and clenched his teeth to keep his mouth from quivering. Instead, his body continued to tremble. "Where were you?" he managed to say.

"Please," Luna was crying. "Please, I'm not like the others. Please, just hear me out."

Neville was fighting his grip, but Malfoy was stronger. He held him in place while the rest of him shook. "How are you here?" Malfoy spoke loudly, but even Nott heard the break in his voice. Nott turned to look back at him uneasily.

"I was taken," Luna began, but Malfoy interrupted her.

"You're healed," he growled, holding his wand tighter.

She nodded as the tears streamed down her face. "Please, tell me how to convince you that I'm still me."

It was at this moment Malfoy realized that, now that Hermione was gone, she too could be compromised. That they would have to operate under the assumption that she was. Because how could they determine if she weren't? He blinked through the haze clouding his vision and the tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. "I'm sorry, Luna," he whispered.

She was shaking her head, but he was already stepping forward. Neville was screaming at his side, but Nott took over, holding him back by the arms as Malfoy approached Luna. "No," she was whispering. "No, Draco, don't do this." She looked up at him desperately. "You're going to regret it."

Regret. The word made him hesitate. _Regret is …_ He tried to recall Hermione's concept of the word. _A waste of emotion_ , he'd agreed. Except that the action had not yet occurred. He had a chance here. A chance to circumvent regret altogether – the _first_ time around.

He blinked at Luna's tear-stained face. He was standing so close now that he could see the glint of moonlight in each of her tears. Luna looked behind him at Nott and Neville, then sideways toward Ron and Harry. Toward the shelters. Malfoy tightened his lips and stuck his wand into her chest. She gasped and looked up at him. Her hands flew up to close around it. "You're making a mistake," she declared in a feverish whisper.

"The mistake's already been made," Malfoy said, "when I wasn't here to protect you."

She shook her head, crying. "Make somebody else do it," she said.

It didn't matter who did it. He knew that. She'd be dead in the end, anyway. Besides, he couldn't trust Potter or Weasley with such a task. Potter couldn't even utter the curse at Voldemort. And Nott? Nott was a healer, not a killer. A killer like him. No, why bring anyone else down when his own hands were already covered in blood?

She tried to smile through her tears when Malfoy jabbed his wand deeper into her ribcage. "Don't blame yourself," she whispered. She let go of his wand and lowered her hands. "It's not your fault, Draco." She closed her eyes.

…

"I'd like you to meet someone," he says. "I think you might like her."

I raise my gaze skeptically. I'm not the biggest fan of people. They tend to disappoint. "Alright," I say.

"She'll be at my lab later today."

I try not to betray my enthusiasm at this. But Theodore Nott's laboratory is integral to the story. At last, I've been invited in.

…

Malfoy stared at her face in horror. At her pale skin that shone in the night, reflected the moon like the snow around her. The white hair that whipped around her face, got trapped in the cracks of her lips. The slight smile that still floated along her face. I am not afraid, it said. Her breath came out steadily in a white cloud, obscured her for a moment.

His shoulders shook as he wept. The tip of his wand was already sparking, glowing, as he held it over her heart. "I'll make it quick," he whispered.

Luna smiled and sniffed. "Okay," she nodded.

His arm was trembling, the wand quivering in his hand. "I'll miss you," he said.

She let out a silent chuckle. "Naturally," she said. "I'm the only dealer in this dive."

Malfoy stared at her. He moved his neck to adjust the collar of his shirt. On a different day, he would have laughed. "I'm going to ignore that."

Luna continued to smile.

…

It's not like the rest of the hospital, the fourth floor of St. Mungo's. To the right is the Janus Thickey Ward, the long-term residence for witches and wizards who've suffered irreversible spell injuries. But Nott steps left off the lift. We walk the carpeted floor, our steps muffled by its soft fibres. Looking at the dimly lit sconces mounted along the cream-coloured walls, I'm reminded of a hotel more so than a hospital. It's not clinical enough.

Nott walks all the way to the end of the corridor. He reaches for a key in his back pocket as he approaches the door, his leather jacket squeaking when his arm moves. He looks back at me and smiles reassuringly as he holds open the door.

"After you," he says.

If only Theodore Nott were not such a _good_ person, it would be easier for me to dislike him. Good. Subjective as it may be, _good_ describes him perfectly.

I step into the darkness behind him and shield my eyes when he flicks on the blinding lights. I don't see the machines, the wires, the computers, the potions. I see _her_.

"Why are you sitting in the dark?" Nott scoffs behind me.

"I was napping," she yawns, rising from a tattered, brown couch – the only feature of the room that has any colour. Even the coffee table is white.

"Marian," Nott smiles at the woman that's stepping around the table to greet us, "allow me to introduce to you, Luna Lovegood."

Luna holds her hand out toward me as she approaches. "How lovely to meet you, Marian," she says. "I've heard so much about you."

…

Malfoy furrowed his brows. "God, Luna, I'm so sorry."

"You're doing the right thing." Luna opened her eyes to look up at him. "You'd be risking them all. I appreciate that."

Malfoy's lips quivered as the tears rolled over them and dripped from his chin.

"Malfoy," he heard Nott's voice from behind amid Neville's sputtering.

"I've got this, Nott," Malfoy responded aggressively.

Luna shut her eyes again, her smile gone from her face. "Today, Malfoy," she said coolly. It was meant to rile him, so he responded by digging his wand deeper into her ribs.

Suddenly, Malfoy's face twisted in on itself. He let out a bellow that shook the trees. The green tip of his sparking wand fluttered outward as he brought his arms around Luna, pulling her into his chest.

Neville stopped thrashing against Nott and they both stood quite still, watching Malfoy sob into Luna's glowing hair.

Malfoy's knees buckled and he brought them both down, rocking back and forth. Luna wrapped her arms around him, clasping them behind his back.

"I'm sorry," Malfoy was saying. "I'm sorry, I can't do it."

Nott's breathing was quickening, and Neville noticed him reach for his back pocket. He put his hand on Nott's arm. "I will take responsibility for her," Neville said quickly, trying to steady his voice. "I won't take my eyes off her."

Nott regarded him skeptically.

"I give you my word," Neville said fervently, "that she won't harm anybody." He shook his head. "Not on my watch."

Nott released the grip on his wand, sighing. He extended his hand to Neville. "Deal," he said.

Neville reached out and grasped Nott's hand in a sturdy handshake.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for giving my story a read! Would love to hear your thoughts so far <3


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